


Doe, John

by buffoello



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Angst, Blood and Violence, Death, Episode: s02e09 The Disturbing Murders at Keddie Cabin, Hurt/Comfort, Keddie AU, M/M, Murder, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ryan is a cop time, Stalking, i did vague research on the keddie murders so don't blame me if i have some inconsistency lmao, set in the 90s so the cabin wouldnt be torn down yet, so watch out, there is at least one murder described in super detail (tm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:40:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22504162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffoello/pseuds/buffoello
Summary: Ryan is investigating a new murder case connected to the Keddie Cabin Murders, and notices similar strings pop up in missing persons cases around Keddie. In his efforts to search for clues, he stirs up suspicion and makes himself a target for the locals. His saving grace? A stranger that seems to know more than he lets on. In a race against time and suspects, Ryan needs to embrace and face his fears.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara & Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 52
Kudos: 112





	1. i've become a cold case, bruised and black

April 8, 1991.

Ryan took a moment to rest his eyes from the monotonous road by glancing out the side windows into the passing swaths of pine trees. The longer he was out in the wilderness, or what _he_ would call wilderness, the more the trees were the majority of his view out of the windshield. The never ending road ahead, marked only in difference by small bridges and potholes, lined by thick trees; it was something he wasn't used to.

When he looked out the front again, he had to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting a deer. He skidded to a stop inches in front of it, heart racing and fingers white from clutching the steering wheel. The deer stared at him over the hood, eyes open and blank. Ryan stared back, mouth agape. The radio fuzzed in and out of signal, music crackling with indistinct public radio voices - the only noise other than the sounds of the wood and the monotone of the engine of the car.

Finally, the deer decided to move. It sauntered the rest of the way across the road, like it hadn't almost died moments before. It took slow, delicate steps down into the ditch before turning its head to look back up at Ryan again.

Ryan looked away before their eyes could meet, and muttered something to the effect of, "Fucking creepy. Damn deer," as he moved his hands down to a more relaxed position on the steering wheel. He inhaled and exhaled deeply. He looked in his rearview mirror and out his windshield, checking for cars in front or behind him; when there was no one, he gradually got up to speed again on the road. The car creaked in protest from its sudden stop. This time, he decided to take it slower; he had been speeding before, and he took the deer as a sign to slow down. Better late to his solo investigation into Keddie than dead.

Funny he should say that; he was here investigating a recent missing persons case possibly connected to a murder in Keddie ten years prior. His coworkers didn't expect him to follow through on much, since his connection was a bit far-fetched. To him, it wasn't that off to theorize that a missing body found in the same square mile area as the missing-then-recovered last Keddie Cabin Murder victim could be connected to a new string of murders in the isolated town. Not to mention the victims were also members of an adjacent town, Quincy.

The road opened up a little more, thanks to the jagged rock formations building up the hills, but it didn't help with revealing Keddie. Comprised of nearly seventy people, if he blinked too soon, Ryan was afraid he'd miss it. The Keddie Resort sign was the indicator that he was in Keddie; otherwise, there wasn't anything else of note. He parked right in front of the building, and felt immediately out of place; like it was a gap not meant to be filled. The once-popular campsite and lounge now stood yawning and empty. He didn't like the way the pine building looked sickly grey and abandoned, and he didn't like how his gut wrenched at the sight. This was his job, he reminded himself, and urged the butterflies in his stomach to stay quiet. He'd be staying in Quincy, a significantly more populated area by Keddie standards, and not that far away. There he could keep an eye on Keddie while he worked with the Plumas County law enforcement. All he had to do here was scout the location and hopefully avoid interaction with any locals.

He exited the car and looked up at the main Keddie Resort building and its surroundings. The way he couldn't look far into the forest behind the building made him realize, _damn, this place is creepy._ He grabbed his messenger bag with information on the cases and camera bag, both of which he put on so the straps sat securely across his chest.

The cabins, all thirty-three of them, had cleared out since the Keddie murders; thanks to rumors of ghosts and the town's gruesome history, people filtered in and out of the resort and town. He supposed he would be one of those people to visit for the supernatural theories, if his circumstances for visiting weren't work-related. He believed in the existence of supernatural things, but simultaneously hoped he wouldn't encounter any in his time looking over Cabin 28.

He loaded film into his camera, an older yet reliable Canon, and didn't worry about much interference from light exposure. It was cloudy, which helped with light distribution, and thus would help with the quality of the photos. He did attach the flash to the top of the camera, for added security and for better indoor shots, which he had no doubt he would be taking. He made his way down the trail in the direction of the cabins. The only sound other than the white noise of the woods was his boots crunching on the gravel. He felt alone, yet still wary. He didn't know if anyone was still living in any of the cabins, so he'd have to watch himself and be prepared to explain he was investigating on behalf of the police.

Cabin 28 had yellow and white peeling paint and plywood boards haphazardly covering the windows. Ryan silently snapped photos of the exterior, flash discharging and then buzzing with a high pitch before indicating it was charged again.

The victim his department found near the recovery place of Tina Sharp was another young girl, of which had been missing from a family found murdered in Quincy three months prior to her discovery. The similarities between the murders was uncanny: a single mother and two children, murdered with a hammer and steak knife, mauled until unrecognizable. Like the Keddie murders before them, there was no clear motive for the murders. Though many people were willing to let a case like this slide into the cold category, Ryan was insistent in investigating the issue himself. He was relieved when his boss okayed his foray to Plumas County.

Once he was done taking photos of the exterior, he almost mustered up the courage to go inside - almost. Instead, he told himself he'd leave it for later and turned around. He trekked back to his car, where he unloaded his things into the passenger seat and left for Quincy. He eyed the rearview mirror as if someone would be watching; thankfully, he was wrong.

He had to swerve out of the way of a dead deer as he retraced his path to Quincy. It was the same deer he had missed not a half an hour earlier. The blood smeared on the road in thick tire lines from other people who passed by before him. Ryan repressed a shiver and turned up the radio for some comfort.

.

The Gold Pan Lodge was where he chose to stay. Reasonable prices per night and comfortable, said an ad in the local phonebook. Ryan's room was on the ground floor, and he moved in what little luggage he packed for the trip with ease from his car. Room 118 was decently furnished, and he was glad it included a desk. The CRT television sat dusty on top of the dresser. He had a whole queen size bed to himself.

Once he had unpacked, Ryan then sought out the Plumas County Sheriff's Department, which was around a ten minute drive from the Gold Pan Lodge. Doug Thomas, the current Sheriff and the same sheriff who was on the Keddie case, brought him a dusty old box of evidence and case files related to the case. Ryan figured the box hadn't been touched in at least five years. Thomas' hair was white and balding, and he smelled strongly of cigarettes. "Don't know what you hope to find in there, kid - your case seems pretty open-and-shut."

As he shuffled away, Ryan couldn't help but think, _of course you would think that._ He searched through the evidence anyways, recording the names of possible suspects which primarily included Marilyn and Martin Smartt, who were still residents of Keddie, and Bo Boubede, another possible accomplice in the original killings (though his current whereabouts were unknown). He was allowed to take the case file, and from there he took it back to room 118.

The television played in the background as he recounted the events of both the original Keddie murders and the new murders that were beginning to be referred to by the press as the Keddie Serials. Ryan mulled over the details of the case and found similarities: the binding and strangulation of victims, and also multiple, erratic stab wounds on all the recovered bodies. A crime of passion, yet premeditated.

When he left his room to get food and fresh air, he noticed his neighbor was outside of his room, sitting in one of the shitty plastic chairs left outside. He sat half in the shadows, legs splayed out in front of him. The stranger looked up at him but didn't move his head. His eyes reflected an unnatural green, and Ryan was drawn in at the sight. He kept eye contact as he began walking to his car, only breaking it when he was a good ten feet away.

When Ryan slipped into the drivers' seat, he looked up to where the person was only moments before. There was nothing in the stained white chair.

He started the car and, despite the hair standing on the back of his neck, assured himself it was nothing.

.


	2. lying on a table with my eyes rolled back, a husband for dear Doe, Jane

The cuisine of Quincy was nothing to write home about. The Plumas Club was like any other nondescript bar in a small town: more people over forty than people under thirty. He was immediately pegged as an outsider and the bartender, a woman in her mid-forties, asked for his ID when he sat at the bar. Once she looked and realized he was semi-local from his California license, her judging look became milder. She took his order for a burger and walked off to chat with one of the other patrons. The sudden cold shoulder brought a frown to Ryan's face.

He was surprised by a voice to his left as he put his ID back in his wallet. "You're from California, but not from around here, are you?"

He turned, and saw the stranger from the hotel. He relaxed a bit at a familiar face, but wondered if the man was following him. Thin, silver eyeglasses framed his brown eyes, and he had a five o'clock shadow. He wore three layers, starting with a blank black t-shirt, bright red flannel, and then a black jean jacket. The plain baseball cap on his head cast his face in partial shadow.

"Not entirely," Ryan admitted, with a small smile. "I'm from the L.A. area."

"Oh, so am I. Small world." The stranger shrugged, and held out a hand. "Shane. What's your name?"

"Ryan." He shook his hand.

"Well, let me buy you a drink then, Ryan - welcome you to the area." He waved down the bartender and ordered a couple rounds of cheap beer, which was all they had. No fancy imports for Quincy, apparently.

As they waited, Ryan wondered when it was that Shane had come in. He looked at the other's shoes to find them muddy - freshly muddy, it looked like - but he didn't track any of it in. When he looked back at Shane's profile, he was looking at the television to their left, in the corner near the ceiling. He felt questions on his tongue, but was hesitant on how to phrase them.

Before he could ask anything, Shane turned to him again. "So, what brings you here? To Quincy?"

Ryan presented himself as an amicable conversationalist again. "Oh, I'm here with the L.A. Police Department. I'm here investigating for a case I'm working on." He kept it vague on purpose, since Shane was a civilian.

"Huh. Anything interesting? Must be, since you've come from the big city." He playfully nudged his shoulder.

Ryan shrugged. "Can't quite tell you, sorry." He began feeling a little defensive.

"Aw, man," Shane huffed, and dropped the subject, pursing his lips.

Suddenly feeling a little guilty, Ryan decided to flip the question on him. "What about you? What made you live here?"

"I was interested in the crimes in the area." He lowered his voice. "Specifically up in Keddie. Then I kind of never left."

"What do you mean?"

He skirted around the subject of Keddie. "Around five years ago, I came here on a personal trip, then just," he waved his hand dismissively, "stayed."

Ryan pretended that was the answer he wanted by nodding, then following up with, "Is it nice up here?"

"Yeah, pretty scenery, kinda nice and secluded. Gotta watch for the deer on the road, though."

Ryan thought back to the deer from earlier in the day and swallowed. "I know what you mean."

Their beers were brought to them, and they stayed silent, watching the local news on the corner television. With such a small screen and spotty connection, it was hard to make out the news. What they did catch, though, were parts of a report on the murders Ryan was investigating in Quincy, and how the body of the youngest victim had been recovered. That, he already knew. Before the commercial break, there was a report on two other missing persons in the area, ones he _didn't_ know about. A local and an outsider, who were dating, apparently. From the spotty audio, Ryan caught that the proposed cause of the disappearances was the swaths of woodland surrounding the area. He wouldn't doubt the ability of a person to get lost, but he still felt uneasy at the sight of more people missing. One being a local, too - how could they get lost if they knew the area?

He took a swig of beer to distract himself.

.

Ryan ate his meal in silence and Shane drank his beer, leaving him alone to eat. They sat one seat apart, but Ryan felt a little better than he would if he was eating by himself.

Once he finished his burger, he struck up conversation again. "Do people go missing a lot around here?"

Shane fixed him with a hard stare. "Depends on who you ask. They don't like strangers, that's for sure."

Even with his hat shadowing his eyes, they felt too bright and invasive for Ryan. Before Ryan could look away, though, he picked up his beer and downed the rest, and then slid off his stool. That was when Ryan noticed how tall he really was, towering a head or so taller than him.

"Well, I gotta get going," Shane announced, tightening his jacket around himself and pulling his hat down to sit more securely on his head. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you, though. I'm also at the Gold Pan - room 117." He smiled at Ryan before turning and walking to the door.

Ryan smiled a little and waved, and then paid for his meal. He paused when he realized he didn't see Shane pay; he brushed it off as a trick of his mind, like the mud on Shane's shoes.

He walked out onto the sidewalk and to his car. When he fished out his keys from his pocket, he thought he felt eyes on him and snapped his attention to the rest of the street. His car was the only one parked for at least a block on this side of the road. On the other side of the road, it was empty. His eyes scanned the rest of the street, not finding anything or anyone else in his vicinity.

Sliding into the driver's seat, he felt for the lock button with his left hand and pressed it, somewhat comforted by the sound of all the doors locking simultaneously. He looked in all the mirrors for good measure before starting the car and driving back to the Gold Pan Lodge.

.

_They don't like strangers, that's for sure._

Ryan chewed at his lip, writing notes about the cases he'd seen so far. The first Keddie case had three out of four outsiders as victims. The second one was a single mother who had just moved to Quincy - had only been there five months before her and her daughter's murder. Three months after that, the police found her daughter's body, which was in the same mile area as the last victim of the original Keddie Murders, Tina Sharp. The two other missing persons he saw on the local news he would have to get the case files for, but from the news bit on them he knew they were a couple that went missing; one was an outsider, one was a local.

Ryan was sure about one thing: outsiders being eliminated or going missing was a common thread that he'd have to investigate.

When looking for statements within the original Keddie files, Ryan dumped out and reorganized the files dozens of times, but couldn't find them. Suspicion grew in the back of his mind. By the time his superior called to check in, he had come to the conclusion that these valuable pieces of evidence were missing from the files he was given. He didn't mention it to his superior, though - he decided he would do some snooping of his own at the station under the guise of becoming intrigued in the missing couple's case. Not that he wasn't already interested - but this time he could ask to see a larger amount of files, to hopefully get some alone time with all of them. The only thing was, what would he ask for?

Once he hung up the phone, he came to the conclusion that he should look through _all_ the missing persons cases in Plumas County following the Keddie Murders. Sure, that'd mean he'd have to rifle through possibly a very large stack of records, since it had been nearly ten years ago - but he figured if he could find more connections within those files, he could make a case and possibly incriminate a serial killer. Whether that would be the original suspects from Cabin 28, he didn't know - but it would at least be a start. He couldn't very well solve the case without evidence that clearly placed a person or people at more than the Keddie murders. From his own personal research prior to this case, he inferred that the ways the Plumas County Police Department avoided convicting suspects and loss of evidence meant the original murders were a cover-up.

As an outsider himself, Ryan didn't feel comfortable staying longer than expected. He wondered why Shane decided to stay. If he was interested in the Keddie murders, like he said, why didn't he leave after his trip? Was he not allowed to leave? Was he being kept here?

Looking at the digital clock on the end table, the red numbers said 12:48am. Ryan gathered up his files, neatly stacked them back in their proper folders, and stashed them in his locking briefcase near his luggage. Before he crawled into bed, he made sure the venetian blinds were closed, curtains pulled over the blinds, and the door was secure with the chain lock and deadbolt. He opened the drawer of the end table and double checked for his gun, an old habit. There it sat, clip separated from the rest of the gun, neatly placed within the confines of the drawer. His badge and wallet sat next to them. It was good to know where it was, even if he didn't need it. He turned off the lamp on the end table after he crawled into bed. He willed his runaway thoughts away, closing his eyes.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many theories and threads, so little answers and connections. kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	3. breathe, cold; another bad dream; got mud on my face but i can't get clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a normal day of sorting through files. right?

The nightmares hit Ryan like a wave on a beach: it swept him off of his thoughts and pulled him into its undercurrent. He saw flashes of images which tore into the recesses of his mind. He saw a reflection of the night sky in the wet street that flowed into wet gravel, all puddles and damp crunching under his shoes, running away from something - someone. Hands gripping a steering wheel of a car that wasn't his, knuckles white. Blood on his hands - was it his? - flowing down into the cracks of his knuckles, mixing with water and mud on his palms, and they shook, they shook, they shook.

He frantically tried to escape from the visions, ripping through them, feeling too slow, feeling powerless to escape the shadows that nipped at his heels. Where was he? Why did he feel the slick of blood flow through his fingers? He felt choked, he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn't -

When his eyes snapped open, he gasped from deep in his lungs, like he was holding his breath underwater for too long. Sitting up felt slow - he saw trails of the movements he made, overlapping like a kaleidoscopic vision. He flung his blankets away from his body, pushing with fingers and toes until they slipped off the bed with the weight of themselves. When he curled into himself, he pulled his legs up, knees into his chest, fingers gripping his upper arms. His heart thrummed, and he was both too warm and too cold - the sudden removal of his blankets caused him to shiver from sweating under the covers in the cold hotel room.

Searching for the shadows he encountered in his dreams in the corners of the room, he saw nothing. His eyes were wide like an owl's, wary of every movement. He backed into the headboard and then sat there in the dark. From his vantage point he scanned the room.

It was silent except for the air conditioner. His mind cleared from the fog of his nightmare, and still he felt the need to run - still he felt the fear. His limbs still ached with the tension.

His rationality came back in breaths. One breath; it was a dream. Two breaths; nothing happened. Three breaths; turn on the light. He stared into the empty room as he felt for the lamp's switch, and was momentarily stunned when he turned it on. The new shadows made him pause, but he attempted to push down his wild panic.

He was alone. He swallowed despite its uselessness to his dry throat, and chewed at his chapped lips.

The air conditioner made a loud series of clicking noises as it shut off, which made Ryan jump. Even when he realized in the split second after that it wasn't any danger to him, he still found his heart beating like crazy.

In the silence after the air conditioner turned off, his breathing felt too loud. Hesitant, he stood and walked to the bathroom, flicking on the light and taking the time to splash his face with water and also take a good gulp from the tap.

Looking up at his reflection, he sighed deeply. He swiped longer hairs from his forehead and studied the bags under his eyes. He was for sure gonna need coffee in the morning - that is, if he slept again at all. He stared at his hands and found they were shaking. Droplets of water collected in the cracks of his fingers, and he realized the hands he saw in his nightmare were not his own. The hands in his nightmare were much more thin, veins more prominent, fingernails dirty and more oval shaped. The blood he saw was not his own, he reassured himself, but then took a step back in his thoughts.

What, exactly, had he seen?

He patted his face dry with a pure white towel and wiped off his hands, maybe a little more harshly than normal - it was almost like he could still feel the dirt and blood on his hands from his nightmare. He looked multiple times to make sure they were clean.

The clock on the end table said 5:26 am. He sighed, hands on his hips, running through options in his mind. He could go back to sleep, but that might mean more nightmares. He could leave the hotel room, but it was still dark, and he wasn't sure if he could handle walking around alone right now.

Ryan sat on the edge of his bed and tried to reason with himself: the nightmare happened probably because he was thinking about all these murders. _But why did it feel so real?_ asked the back of his mind. _What if someone is trying to communicate?_ asked the large part of him that believed in the supernatural.

He brushed them away like cobwebs. He needed to forego his idealizations and focus on the present. In an attempt to get a little more rest, he crawled back into bed and wrapped himself up in his blankets again.

This time he left the lamp on.

Just in case.

.

When Ryan left his room near 7am, not being able to simply lay in his bed anymore - of course he didn't get any sleep - he was dressed in a casual suit. The bags under his eyes betrayed his groomed appearance.

Breakfast in the lobby of the hotel was mediocre, and Ryan was unsurprised. Rubbery, flavorless eggs and stale pancakes went down better with a good helping of hot sauce and syrup. He was staring off into space when Shane sat in front of him, snapping him out of his trance. He still wore his red flannel, and held a cup of coffee in his hands. He poured two sugars in from the holder on the table before taking a drink.

"You're looking spring fresh this morning, Officer Bergara."

Ryan huffed a laugh and smiled a little. "Didn't get much sleep last night," he explained. "Woke up at like, 5:30 am and couldn't get back to sleep." He rubbed at his eyes.

"Hmm. Need coffee?"

"Yes, please."

Shane smiled and stood, patting Ryan's shoulder as he passed. Ryan scanned the room and realized the employees had been staring at them; his smile fell and he tried to look more serious and professional. They looked away when he attempted to meet their eyes. He swallowed nervously and focused on eating once again, thanking Shane when he returned with the coffee. He swallowed it down black to wake himself up, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

"Investigating more mysteries today?" Shane asked over their coffee.

"Yeah, I gotta go down to the station. Sort through maybe ten years' worth of records… Gonna be fun."

Shane scoffed. "Gonna have dinner at the Plumas again?"

Ryan shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Depends on if I get done by then. Might just stay 'til I'm finished at the station."

Shane nodded. "I'd be willing to pay for another beer if I see you again," he offered.

"I might take you up on that," Ryan said as he collected his plates. With a little wave, he was on his way to the station.

.

"Missing persons reports from the last _ten years?_ " Asked Doug Thomas, aghast, hands on his hips.

"Yep. I might have a lead, but I need to see if there are any similarities in other cases. First missing persons' cases, then any other cold cases you have."

Thomas grunted in semi approval and begrudgingly led him further into the station, past the desks of other officers, who stared at him from the corner of their eyes. Ryan prickled under the scrutiny, but attempted to stand straighter and walk with more confidence. The anonymous corporate greyness of it all was stuck in the late seventies, as was the filing system; there had been no attempt to digitize any files, and he especially doubted most of them had been touched in years. Dust collected in a visible layer on top of the filing cabinets.

Thomas patted a filing cabinet labelled "COLD CASES" with an embossed label maker. "We don't sort missing persons from cold cases, since they're usually overlapping. But you can read, you'll figure out which are which."

The further down he opened in the cabinet, the more musty the smell from the drawers. He found the files labelled with the year 1981 and pushed open the immediate file.

Before Thomas left, Ryan interjected, "Do you have the statements of the suspects in the Keddie? I couldn't find them in the files."

Thomas pursed his lips and said, "I can check again, but no promises. Stuff gets lost, especially in this station." Ryan furrowed his brows at that statement, but then realized he was talking about the state of the filing system rather than corrupt police work. He still suspected the latter had something to do with it.

"Okay. Thank you," he called after Thomas as he left.

He turned to the filing cabinet again and pulled out the first case.

.

Eighteen. Eighteen cold cases were dated from after the Keddie Murders in 1981 until 1991. Most of them were listed as missing persons, but that didn't steer his attention away from the unsolved murders and Jane and John Does. That would mean nearly three per year, but he still frowned at the frequency of the cases; the fact they were turning cold instead of being solved felt wrong. He wouldn't blink an eye at this amount in Los Angeles, but in such a rural area? It was unusual.

Most of the cases being missing persons, he checked the eyewitness accounts of the last time the people were seen and wrote them down. Most were last seen driving, getting into, or riding in a car. Some cars were recovered at scenes where the car was abandoned, or at least appeared abandoned. Others were less obvious, hidden in odd places, on unused trails in the woods or in junkyards. In the cases involving murder, the favored weapons were hammers (almost always missing from the scene) and knives from the vicinity of the crime scene.

Ryan processed common threads in the cases until a tension headache formed from him chewing at his lip and sitting hunched over files for hours on end. He stretched and checked the clock; it was near noon. While packing up his notes, he noticed someone in the doorway out of the corner of his eye and turned.

It was a different officer, holding a stack of papers. "Uh, Thomas said you needed these? They're statements?"

Ryan smiled and took them from his hands. "Thank you, I was worried I wouldn't get them."

When the officer left, he went to work organizing the files once again by date. The room was filled with metallic clinking of the filing cabinet components as he slid files into place. When he closed the drawer, he heard the unmistakable sliding of a file down behind the cabinet. He peeked in the small gap between the cabinets and saw the manila of another folder. He squinted at it and sighed, feeling obligated to unearth it.

The cabinet creaked and squeaked as he walked it out from its place, making a gap big enough for him to reach in for the file - problem was, his arms weren't thin enough to reach all the way back. He frowned and pulled out a pen, which was able to reach the few inches from his hand to the wall. After poking at the file a few times, it flopped over onto the ground with a pitiful slap, and he used the end of the pen to inch it across the floor to where he could grab it.

Once it was in his hands, he heaved a sigh of relief, feeling frustrated and hungry. He stood and swatted dust away from the file and away from his face. He looked at the name of the file. It read _Doe, John. 1984._ Curious about another case to add to his list, he flipped it open.

Staring back at him from the first page was a police sketch of Shane.

He was wearing a red flannel.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh, the title chapter, finally. remember to leave kudos/comments! 💖


	4. slowly; lie to me; like i need you to do; so i can hear you say something that sounds right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is basically: 
> 
> ryan: ive connected the dots  
> shane: you didn't connect shit  
> ryan: ive connected them

Ryan nearly dropped the file, but he only felt the weight of his heart drop to his feet. His muscles coiled in the fight or flight instinct again, but he just stood in the empty filing room and stared at the police sketch in the file.

It was Shane. It was unmistakable. Question was, what was he doing _here_ , in an unidentified persons' file, when he had just seen him this morning?

His mouth immediately felt dry, tongue a heavy weight in his mouth. He hesitantly shifted the file to one hand, fingers grazing the tops of the pages within - he could open it up now, learn more - but he snapped the file closed before he could stop himself. He quickly moved the filing cabinet back in place and tucked the file into his briefcase along with all the other sensitive information he now carried near constantly on his person. He left with only a curt nod to the secretary.

.

Ryan sat in room 118, alone and on his messy bed, with the Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the door handle. His briefcase was open on the bed; he had pulled out Shane's file and was staring at it with disbelief, despite its very real presence in front of him.

He was weighing the options of not opening versus opening it. His palms were sweaty, and he felt an invisible grip on his stomach from anxiety.

He opened it.

The first thing he saw was the D.O.B.: May 16, 1950. Height: 6'4". Hair color: Brown. Eye color: Brown. All of this was information he knew. He hesitantly touched the side of the paper and flipped it to the next page.

What he uncovered next was photographs - specifically that of a crime scene. A gravel road, unkempt with puddles littering the surface. A car stopped, drivers' side door wide open and keys still in the ignition. Muddy footprints made by boots on the gravel and in the dirt. A shovel on the ground with blood on its spade. The place where someone used the shovel to dig was only a few feet deep, fresh dirt piled to the side. He frowned at the hole. What were they trying to unearth?

The snapshots of the inside of the car seemed familiar. His eyes lingered on the shot of the steering wheel and realized it matched his nightmare. He shuffled through the photos again and then moved to the case notes, which presented him with a vague timeline.

April 10, 1984.  
At 17:43 he was seen leaving the Gold Pan Lodge, getting into his 1981 Toyota Cressida.

At 18:06 he was seen driving North on the I-70 towards Keddie by a worker who recognized him from the Gold Pan Lodge.

April 11, 1984.  
At 06:13, an anonymous call to the Plumas County Police Department reported an abandoned car on the gravel road that looped through Keddie.

At 07:03, Plumas County Officers arrived at the scene. They found the 1981 Toyota Cressida abandoned, keys still in the ignition. A shovel and multiple blood samples were found at the scene.

The rest of the notes were related to people testifying the nature and reasons for Shane's visit. The few people he interacted with included the bartender at the Plumas Club, the manager at the Gold Pan, and a few sightings at gas stations around town. He didn't share his name, and only paid in cash. There was no way to track him, really. Even the car was mysteriously untraceable, its license plates removed. The notes ended around four months after his disappearance; there was no sign of him or where he could have gone, according to those on the case. The funny thing was, one of them included Chief Doug Thomas.

If Shane was currently living in Quincy, how come nobody had updated this missing persons' report? He looked through the photos again. Blood at the scene, yet no homicidal or violent crimes investigation? The Plumas County officers weren't hard-pressed to solve this case, apparently. He also didn't know how long ago the case file had been lost behind the filing cabinet, so he frowned in confusion at the photos and case notes, trying to make sense of it all.

Ryan decided to talk privately with Shane - he knew which room he was in, and it would be easy to find him, he hoped. Apparently it was hard for the local police.

He gathered up Shane's case file and set it aside, and then walked to the door. When he opened the door and walked out, though, there Shane was: sitting in the shitty plastic chairs outside the hotel rooms. They met eyes and Ryan stood with his mouth agape.

Ryan shook himself out of his trance and snapped his mouth shut. "Um. Can I talk with you for a second?"

Shane cocked his head to one side, giving him a sideways smile. "Am I in trouble, Officer?"

Ryan couldn't help the smile that flickered onto his face, but he shook it away. "No, I just… have questions."

With one eyebrow raised, Shane got up and followed him into the room. Ryan closed it behind them and locked it. Then he walked over to the bed, grabbed the file, and shoved it into Shane's hands.

"Why are you a missing person when you're clearly not missing?"

Shane hesitantly opened the file; his expression immediately darkened. His baseball hat once again put his face in shadow, so his expression was hard to read as he looked down at the file. Ryan watched and waited. Shane tilted his head up just enough so that he could peer over his glasses and under his hat at Ryan. His eyes were suddenly hollow and shone with an unnatural brightness, like a cat's in the dark.

"Where did you find this?" His voice was low and serious.

"It was behind a filing cabinet at the Plumas Police Station."

Shane looked down at the file again, fingers reaching out to delicately touch the police sketch of himself. He got a wistful look in his eyes.

Then he snapped the file shut and shoved it back at Ryan and took long strides toward the door. Ryan dropped the file and scrambled to catch up. When he did, he slapped a hand over the lock on the door and stared up into Shane's face.

"What are you hiding? What does it mean?" Clearly he had hit a nerve, and Ryan needed answers. He couldn't meet Shane's eyes despite their close proximity.

"It's nothing. It's done." Shane huffed, and reached for the doorknob. Ryan stood his ground and braced a foot in front of the door to keep him from opening it. Shane paused.

"Just tell me. I can help you," Ryan pleaded.

"No, you can't. Nobody can. You're going to be out of here soon anyway." Shane grabbed the knob but Ryan pulled his hand away by the wrist.

At the bold move Shane snarled, like a cornered animal - his teeth showed and he snapped his jaw shut, the sound of teeth clashing together startling to Ryan's ears, making him flinch. Shane's eyes were wide, irises still reflecting with an eerie glow. Ryan's heart skipped and even though his body was telling him _go, run, leave,_ he stayed in the same position, even going so far as to tighten his grip on Shane's wrist.

Seeing that Ryan wasn't letting go, Shane jerked his wrist towards himself, which caused Ryan to stumble forward a step; they would be nose to nose if Shane wasn't so tall. He stared unblinking down at Ryan and, teeth still bared, hissed, "Go back to L.A. before you do something you'll regret."

Shane pulled his wrist from Ryan's grip and moved Ryan's hand and unlocked the door, but Ryan was insistent - he pushed it closed when Shane opened it.

"I - I need to know why you're here if you're supposed to be missing." Ryan tried to meet his eyes still, and tried to keep his voice from shaking.

Shane threw his hands up, incredulous, and stepped away from the door. He sat on the bed, facing away from Ryan. He put his head in his hands. Ryan, concerned and a little cautious at the display of anger, approached. He sat softly on the other side of the bed.

After a long pause had passed, Ryan gently, slowly, reached a hand out to Shane's shoulder. Just before he was about to make contact, Shane lifted his head. He froze.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Shane asked, sounding small. Ryan blinked, taken aback. Shane, noticing the pause, turned his head to the side a little. "...Do you?"

"Uh, yeah." Ryan swallowed. "I do… What does this have to do with the file?"

Shane's eyes looked to the floor. Ryan sat still, watching his profile, afraid breathing too hard would break the delicate moment. Shane didn't move for a moment, and Ryan was tempted to reach out again when Shane spoke.

"I went missing, because… I was killed." Shane's shoulders dropped a little at the revelation, tension brewing there released with the words. " _I'm_ a ghost."

Ryan's brain short circuited. He froze like a computer; he swore he could hear his brain making dial-up noises. "What?"

Shane turned to fully face him, legs half crossed on the bed, but the mud on his shoes didn't rub off on the sheets. He didn't track any in, either. Ryan connected the dots: Shane appearing conveniently where he was - always wearing the same outfit, the same red flannel - and never leaving a trace of anything, not even mud from his shoes.

Without thinking, he reached out with shaky hands and touched Shane on the chest. It was solid, but solid like a wall would be; like an inanimate object. Ryan didn't know what else he expected. Shane sat and stared at Ryan's wandering hand, expression almost stunned. Ryan wondered when was the last time he was touched by a living person.

"You're solid," Ryan observed.

Shane held out his hands. "Feel my hands."

Ryan gently set his hands on Shane's. It was like reaching into a freezer: a cloud of cold surrounded Shane's hands, and touching his skin felt like holding a cold drink.

"You're warm," Shane observed.

"You're cold," Ryan countered.

Shane smiled softly and then stared at their hands, getting the wistful look in his eyes again. Ryan stared down too, and then realized the hands from his nightmare were Shane's. He took one in both of his hands and leaned in for a closer look. He ran his thumbs over the knuckles he remembers seeing slicked with blood. Shane, understandably startled, moved to pull them away, but paused when Ryan spoke.

"I saw your hands in a dream," Ryan whispered, almost breathless. "In a nightmare," he corrected.

Shane's eyes widened. "Is… that why you couldn't sleep last night?"

"Yeah."

He pursed his lips. "Those… were some of my memories. Sometimes I… affect people around me who are particularly sensitive to… ghosts." He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "It's also near the anniversary. Of my death. I kind of… leak more around this time."

_I'm sensitive to this?_ Ryan thought. "No wonder. It was so real…" He whispered, looking back down at their hands. "Why are you… stuck here?"

Shane scoffed. "Well, first, I died." Ryan gave him a pointed look, and Shane smiled. "Then I woke up in Quincy. I… know I'm dead. I know how I died. I just… don't know who did it." His smile faltered.

"How long?"

Shane paused, like he was counting in his head. "Seven years since I died, but you already knew that. Five since I woke up."

Ryan realized he was still holding his hand, and went to let go; Shane held fast to his hand. "You believe me," he said, almost pleading, "don't you?"

Ryan lifted his head and looked into his eyes. behind the silver frames and within the shadow from his hat, he found desperation in Shane's eyes. "Yes, I do."

Shane lowered his head again, the bill of his hat obscuring his expression. He flipped his hand from on top of Ryan's so he was cradling the other's hand, and traced the lines in his palm with his thumb. Ryan stared, oddly comforted by the cool touch.

Ryan was surprised when Shane pulled him into a tight hug. After a moment of hesitation, Ryan's arms encircled Shane's back and a hand nestled on his head. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, his arms were empty. He let them fall to his lap and he stared at his palms, suddenly feeling empty.

.

Ryan sat in the bath until his fingers turned pruny and the water became tepid. After Shane disappeared, he needed time away from the world, time to think; so he holed himself up in the bathroom and numbed himself with water hot enough to make his skin red. He felt like the universe was against him. He had to solve a string of murders that Shane was possibly a part of? He didn't like it. He was afraid.

When he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in his sweats and an old tshirt for pajamas, Shane was waiting on his bed. He looked up and stared at him, expectant. Ryan wordlessly walked over and sat on the bed.

"I need to learn everything you remember from that night. No, from the time you arrived here. Can you do that?" Ryan was tired, but he knew he had to push through the desire to go to sleep for a few days. He switched his brain into auto-cop mode; or, at least tried to.

Shane shifted so he was facing him. "Well, I think I can do you one better: I can show you more of my memories."

"Like the dreams?"

"Exactly. I'll… open up more. So you can see them."

Ryan sighed and leaned over, heels of his hands digging into his eyes. Then he sat with his head in his hands for a moment. He knew what he was going to see; he knew it was going to be more blood, more violence, more terror than last night. He was scared. God, was he scared - he wanted to leave this godforsaken town and never come back. He wanted to immediately resign from his job at the L.A.P.D. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted - but he knew what he _needed_ to do.

He needed to solve these cases.

To psych himself up, he took deep breaths, in and out. He told himself it would be temporary; he reassured himself once again that it wouldn't be happening to him, that it was just memories, despite how real it felt.

He wasn't comforted. He was terrible at this.

Still, he opened his eyes and looked up into Shane's worried eyes. Shane looked a little nervous himself, behind the wall up in his eyes.

"Rock and roll, buckaroo," Ryan said.

Shane didn't look convinced, but he held out his hands. Ryan took them. They both closed their eyes.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rock n roll, buckaroo!!! 😬


	5. i wish that i could open up your head; and rip out the things i see that make you nervous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for graphic description of violence/death! be careful y'all

Ryan breathed slowly, in and out. He tried to calm himself down; tried to be more open, like Shane would be, to channel his memories. He waited.

It came in a flash of brightness; Ryan would squint if he could. Instead, he found himself - Shane - driving. The scene was familiar, like Ryan had driven it before. A sign on the side of the road told him he was correct, that it was I-70, that he was going north, towards Keddie.

It was near dark. His - Shane's - heart was fluttering with anxiety in his chest. Shane looked over at the shovel in the passenger seat, and a feeling of dread washed over him, uncontrollable. These were Shane's memories, thus Shane's emotions.

 _Just a little further. Just gotta find it,_ Shane thought.

Shane slowed and pulled onto a gravel road. He could see the sign for the Keddie Resort. The shadows of the trees on the west side of the road were long and stretched down to caress the side of the building. He was in a hurry - that much was evident by the way he navigated the bumpy road, letting the car rock and jostle, hitting the puddles hard enough for mud and water to splatter on the windshield.

When he skidded to a stop, he was in front of a small inlet where water from the river stagnated. He grabbed the shovel, scooted out of the car, and left the headlights on, pointed at the water. He would need the light soon; the sun was going to set.

Shane pulled out a Keddie Resort map from his back pocket, clearly used, crumpled and with notes written on it. He flipped it open and focused on the small inlet illustrated on the map. A red X marked where he needed to dig. He shoved the map back in his pocket and took a deep breath, steeling himself. He looked around and tried to reassure himself that he was alone. He didn't have much time, that was for sure. He had to work fast.

The ground was packed into a near-immovable mass, as evidenced by the amount of force he had to use to get the spade more than two inches in the ground. He pushed it down with his foot, half standing on it to force it into the dirt.

It was hard work; he started sweating on the fourth or fifth scoop, and by the time he was a foot down into the ground, he felt sweat dripping from his forehead. The mud caked on his boots. He was out of breath. He kept going. He had to widen the hole, digging deeper in some places, knowing he was in the correct place. Knowing, hoping, praying it would be here. It was his last dreg of hope.

Then he hit something.

He pulled the shovel out of the ground again and tossed it aside. He kneeled, not worrying about his jeans. He dug his fingers into the dark, wet dirt, pushing aside handfuls of it. Something glinted in the headlights' beam, and he grabbed it, pulling it free from the ground.

A hammer.

He laughed - a desperate, relieved laugh. It was there. It was hidden. It was the piece of evidence he needed. Shane stood and turned around only to find someone standing in the way of him and his car. He froze. The imposing silhouette was male, he assumed. Despite everything, he had drawn too much suspicion to himself.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked the silhouette.

Shane clutched the hammer in one hand and grit his teeth, standing. He had to make a run for it. But, before he could do anything, he heard the scraping of metal on the ground - he turned, but not enough to see the person behind him. The spade of the shovel collided with his skull, and the pain shuddered through him. The blunt trauma was sudden and harsh, but he clung onto wisps of consciousness even as he shakily fell to his knees.

The world turned horizontal, and his vision went black when he hit the ground.

.

Shane's eyelids fluttered open, but his left eye was sticky. It was blood, he realized, when he saw some half-dried in his eyelashes. He tried to move his hand up to wipe it away, but found his hands bound behind his back.

_Oh, this is bad._

He looked around, thankful that his glasses were still on his face. Someone moved him, since now he leaned against the side of his car. He looked around and realized he was on the driver's side - his keys were still in the ignition, evidenced by the headlights' glow still pointing to the pond. He didn't see anyone in his line of sight, so he turned onto his side to push himself up from his knees to a crouching position. Being quiet was his only hope now. In his squatted position, he stepped through the loop his arms made so his hands were in front of him. They were bound with duct tape. From there he listened.

He could hear conversation near the hole he dug, and he looked through the windows to where two figures stood, facing away from him. One woman and one man. The man held the hammer, and Shane clenched his jaw in frustration. Now he had to confront two potential murderers to get to the evidence he needed to convict them.

_I am so fucked._

Trying to be quiet, he gnawed and tore at the duct tape wrapped around his wrists. His head throbbed and he felt dizzy, but tried to blink the feeling away. At least he knew the blood on his head was clotting. The blood on his eyelashes and on his face felt gross and sticky, though.

When he had tore through enough of the duct tape, he pushed a foot between his hands, hoping to use some combination of weight and force to rip the layers apart. When the duct tape gave way, he kicked the ground, which made him freeze. It was a noise of movement if nothing else, and he hoped the two strangers wouldn't be able to hear it. He held his breath; he listened.

He didn't hear the crunch of wet gravel under shoes, so he figured he didn't bring attention to himself. He let out the breath he was holding, and it was shaky. His heart beat fast in his ears from his injury and stress.

Shane removed his glasses and scrubbed at the blood on his face with the sleeve of his flannel, helping to make his vision clearer. When he replaced his glasses again, he peeked up through the windows of his car at the two people. They were still deliberating about something. With careful steps and one hand on the car to steady himself, he moved around the back of the car and to the other side. He deliberated his next move: get the hammer or run. He wondered how far he could get on foot versus in his car. Could he get in his car? Could he run far enough to lose them?

His vision went blurry for a moment and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of the dizziness he felt like a wave through him. Much to his disdain, he stumbled heavily against the car, and it shifted, creaking loudly. His blood ran cold and his eyes snapped open when he heard jogging steps come towards him.

He turned and ran down the road, frantic.

He heard oncoming running steps, and he concentrated on finding the main road, he had to wave down a car, multiple cars, anything, anyone. His ears only processed the sounds of his gasping breaths and the footsteps following him.

In a catastrophic moment, he stumbled.

His feet slipped on the slick gravel, and he caught himself with his hands.

He dug his hands into the dirt and pushed himself up, hoping the extra force would help him evade capture. It was then when a hand grabbed the back of his flannel and _pulled._ He was thrown backwards onto his back, vulnerable and defenseless. He scrambled to stand again, scrambled to defend himself, something, he had to, he had to - he leaned back on his hands and crawled backwards, away from the stranger. The second figure came into view - the woman. They were far enough away from the car now that he couldn't make out either figure's face in the darkness.

Shane's breath came in panicked gasps, and his limbs felt coiled and tense, ready for flight flight flight -

The figure took three big steps toward him and stooped to her knees, leaning over him, pushing him down to the ground by a shoulder. He could hear her breath, feel her breath. He noticed her other hand at her side -

Shane felt an impact on the left side of his stomach.

Then a searing hot sting, like he had been shocked by electricity. It was so hot, it felt like his skin was on fire. His breath caught in his throat. When she twisted and pulled the knife out in one swift motion, he screamed. It was involuntary, ripped from his throat, a strangled cry. He made a series of shorter, more desperate cries after that - his hand snapped to holding his side, but when he touched it, the electric pain shot through him again. He pulled it away immediately and lifted his head to look down.

The burning sensation didn't fade - if anything, he felt it get worse. His shirt became soaked with warmness, like he had dumped hot coffee on it. With his shirt black, he couldn't see the blood as it exited his wound.

He lifted his hands up into his line of sight and saw the red glisten. Blood collected in the cracks of his skin and flowed down his fingers.

As a reaction, he lashed out with one arm and pushed the woman off of him. With a shudder and pushing through the burning and lurch in pain he hadn't felt before, he was able to stand and step back. He brought a hand to his side again, breaths coming in gasps, hands shaking violently.

"No - " he swallowed hard. "No, no - " he choked out from his dry throat.

He covered his left hand with his right one and stepped backwards, backwards, backwards - he couldn't bring himself to move faster despite the woman standing and approaching him again. He watched with horror, wanting to escape his body as she took slow, deliberate steps backward. She was playing with him. She knew he couldn't run. Shane's eyes widened and his mouth hung open; whimpers and unintelligible pleads escaped as he hyperventilated. She closed in on him quickly and he grabbed her wrists in desperate defense.

She shook them off like Shane wasn't using all of his strength to hold her back, then plunged the knife in the wound again, this time digging upward into his abdomen. The only sound he could make in response was a pitiful squeaking in the back of his throat. He stood higher on his toes, moving with the direction of force.

She pulled the knife free from his flesh again with a sickening squelch. Tears blurred Shane's vision as his knees gave way, unable to hold himself up any more. He crumpled completely onto the gravel, arms wrapping protectively around his stomach, mouth opening and closing like a fish, eyes unfocused. He felt the gravel dig into his face.

Standing over him, his attacker shoved him with her foot so he laid on his back, and Shane tried to curl into himself, but every movement hurt.

_It hurts, it hurts, it hurts -_

He heard her cackle.

_Don't let me - I don't wanna - I don't - don't deserve to die -_

She softly set her shoe on top of his crossed arms over his stomach -

_Not yet -_

and _pushed._

After a few agonizing seconds of pressure, a gravelly, hoarse scream tore itself from Shane's throat, which ended in wheezing coughs. He saw only abstractness, blobs of color blurred together, unrecognizable. His brain was white noise. No thoughts circulated - only a constant stream of pain. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt blood flow out of his wound. It was strangely cold, now. His fingers felt icy.

He laid there. What else could he do? He heard the rush of blood in his ears and tears continued to leak from his eyes in streams. The weight she put on her foot was taken off of him. The tight grip he had around himself loosened all of a sudden.

_No_

His left arm, now relaxed, flopped away from him, laying straight. Blood glistened on his hands, flowing down his knuckles.

_Don't_

The beating in his chest became unbearably tight. He gasped - a long, weak gasp.

_Stop_

When he exhaled, it left him in a long, slow stream. He no longer felt the hurt.

He only felt numb.

He faded.

.

Ryan opened his eyes. White light was all he saw for a moment, then it faded into tangible surroundings.

It took him a solid ten seconds to realize Shane was shaking him. He opened his mouth and inhaled to the top of his lungs.

Shane's voice was urgent. "...an? Ryan? Please say something - I didn't know this would happen - "

"U - ...uh?" Ryan's reply was slow. He stared into Shane's face but didn't register anything for another solid five seconds.

He blinked, and he began processing things.

Shane held him in his arms, one hand on his face, other cradling underneath his back. One of Ryan's arms was crossed over his chest, the other extended away from him, limp. He lifted his head a little, and Shane moved the hand on his face to behind his head to hold it up. Ryan blinked a few more times, remembering to breathe and taking in some careful, uneven breaths.

When he focused on Shane's face, he watched as he smiled in relief. His eyes crinkled at the edges, and Ryan noticed they were wet. He narrowed his eyes at Shane, the room a little too bright still.

"Whuh..?" he managed.

"Do you know where you are?" Shane asked.

Ryan blinked a few times. Things became clearer. "Hotel. Quincy."

"Uh-huh. How about my name, bud?"

"Shane."

"And yours?"

"Ryan."

Shane sighed again and smiled with a soft laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, that's it…" he said, voice gentle. Ryan stared up into his eyes, sobering up finally. He lifted his limp arm up to Shane's face to wipe at his eyes with his thumbs - he flinched slightly, but after Ryan paused, he allowed him to wipe away his tears.

Ryan let his fingers trail down to hook on the collar of Shane's shirt. "What… happened?" Ryan asked, still a little out of it. Shane looked down at him, worry still lacing his features. Ryan cocked his head, and then realized how close they were. He shakily braced his arms back on the bed and sat up to move out of Shane's lap.

Shane's hands hovered around him for security. "You… shared memories with me. Do you remember them?"

Ryan sat cross-legged in front of him and softly laid his hands in his lap, slouching. He stared at them for a moment, thinking. He searched his memories, and as the fog cleared, they came rushing back. He snapped his head up to make eye contact with Shane when he remembered it all again.

"I saw you die. I - felt it. I felt everything you felt, I - " Ryan clutched at his abdomen, in the exact spot where Shane was stabbed. He dug his nails into his shirt, and he felt the pressure through the fabric. It was nothing compared to what he felt.

Shane stared down at Ryan's shaking hands with a look of guilt. He lingered for a few seconds before looking away, but didn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Ryan watched Shane's face and hesitantly let go of his abdomen. He stared for a moment more before he grabbed Shane's wrist and pulled him forward into a bone-crushing hug. Shane went to pull away, but Ryan squeezed around his shoulders more. Shane gave in after a second of no movement, wrapping his arms under Ryan's, hands resting on his shoulder blades. A few seconds more, and he gripped the fabric like a lifeline.

"Don't be sorry," whispered Ryan, barely audible. He closed his eyes.

Shane tucked his head in the crook of Ryan's neck, and Ryan could feel Shane's body shaking. He lifted a hand up to his head and rested it on the back of his neck, fingers getting caught in the short hairs there.

Then the floodgates opened. Shane sobbed into Ryan's neck, pulling him close, gripping at his clothing, holding him tight. Ryan reciprocated with equal fervor.

For once, he didn't cry.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as the author, sorry not sorry 😬


	6. let's face it; admit that it's all related; don't mess this up now, you'll make it; it'll hurt i promise you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> intimacy? in a motel room? it's more likely than you think.

They sat there for a long time. Shane leaned hard into Ryan, and neither noticed when the crying stopped and when they simply held each other. Shane's forehead was nestled in the crook of Ryan's neck, and Ryan's arms had encircled him protectively. Ryan trembled with the weight of what he had just witnessed. He was afraid to break the silence, acknowledge it was all real, or move forward in time. Maybe if he stayed still time wouldn't move without him, and he could process before continuing - his anxiety pressed on his shoulders and kept him down.

It was Shane who broke the silence.

"I've never shown anyone that before," he admitted. Ryan stayed silent as Shane slowly lifted his head from resting on his shoulder. Ryan's hands slipped down to rest on Shane's forearms. "Nobody really acknowledged me. Not until you." Shane lifted his head and met Ryan's eyes.

Ryan couldn't suppress the chill that ran down his spine at the openness of his gaze. He wasn't used to being this close to anyone, literally or emotionally, let alone someone who was dead. This was a spirit - a tangible spirit. But a spirit couldn't testify in court.

"I'm going to find your body," Ryan concluded. "You're the evidence I need."

With a bewildered expression, Shane asked, "You're going to help _me_?"

"Of course. You're _here_. You… have unfinished business."

Shane looked thoughtful for a moment. He averted his eyes. "I don't know where my body is," he confessed.

"I'm a detective, and an outsider. I'll find it." Shane looked up at him and stayed for a moment after that, analysing. Ryan slid his hands into Shane's and squeezed. "I promise. Over my dead body."

"You mean mine?"

Ryan couldn't suppress a smile.

.

Ryan showed Shane the files and evidence he accumulated during his stay in Quincy. They locked the doors, pulled the curtains, and spoke softly to one another over the scattered papers. Shane was surprisingly adept at finding the lies within the Keddie files and helped Ryan by listing corrections to his own file.

"I'd talked to a bunch of people about the case - people knew my name. I introduced myself at every opportunity. How could they say I never told anyone my name..?" The last part was more to himself, hand resting on his jaw in thought, but Ryan wondered if they would claim the same thing about himself if he got too suspicious.

"How long did you stay here?"

"A couple weeks, at least. People would have seen me. Hell, the people at the Plumas Club were the same when you went as when I went."

Ryan sighed and stuck another addendum sticky note to the case file. "Any theories on the location of your body?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm still in Keddie. That's… where I woke up." Shane got a distant look in his eyes. "The ghosts there - the Keddie ghosts - they… weren't very welcoming. So I came here."

"What do you mean?"

Shane rubbed at the back of his neck, searching for the words. "They're not fully formed like me. They're… shadows. Like TV static. More of a feeling than something you can… interact with. They didn't like that I was there, even if I'm dead, too."

"Why are you solid, then?"

"Fuck if I know. All I can assume is it's because I have to like, avenge my own death or so I could get someone else to avenge my death." He smirked at Ryan. "Looks like I dragged you into a whole new responsibility."

Ryan smiled back. "I was already trying to solve this, so now I have you as a spiritual guide on the path to justice." Shane laughed.

The clock said 8:18pm. The vision and discussing the case took a lot longer than Ryan realized. He was drained for sure - the emotional and physical toll of experiencing death through someone else's memories was high. He needed some sleep, but he pushed through the fatigue to continue working on the case with Shane.

He rubbed at his eyes. "From your memories, I… couldn't get a clear shot of your assailants' faces."

"Sorry I didn't analyse their faces as I was bleeding out on the gravel."

Ryan continued without acknowledging the joke. "Can I see them again? The memories?"

Shane's expression turned sour. "You fainted and I thought I fucking killed you." he retorted. "You felt everything. What if I can't pull you out in time?"

"I'm fine," Ryan insisted, even as the thought of reliving being stabbed again made his hands shake. He felt the phantom pain still in his side. God, did it scare him that he could be targeted in the same way as Shane. Quincy and Keddie were dangerous. Even existing in them was dangerous, now, but he had to seek out the truth, see what Shane couldn't see in his memories. Analyse the clues hidden in the living crime scene that was Shane.

Shane rested a hand on his knee, which made Ryan look up. "You need to get some rest. We can do this tomorrow."

"No, I need to keep going - I need to end this."

"You need to _sleep_." Shane began gathering up the papers on the bed.

Ryan tensed, reaching out to stop Shane, which made him turn and look at him with a huff. Ryan met his eyes, and there must have been something in his expression, because Shane scooted closer and pulled him into a hug, tucking his head under his chin and letting one hand rest on his waist and the other in Ryan's messy hair. Stunned, Ryan froze; then he slowly wrapped his arms around Shane. It wasn't like their embrace they shared before, focused on clinging to each other for support - this time, it was gentle and caring. Ryan didn't know what to do with those emotions. He hadn't trusted anyone thus far to come close to this type of affection.

He closed his eyes and melted into the touch, despite everything in his anxious body yelling at him to pull away, that somehow he'd mess this up - Shane's soothing touch quieted the voices. He found his eyes drifting closed, leaning more into Shane. Fatigue weighed him down.

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until the dreams started.

.

There were more flashes of images - of memories. Shane was once again bleeding into Ryan's mind. He was hesitant, but allowed himself to be swallowed by the feelings, the images, the sounds, the touches. This time they were comforting, not violent.

Hands took his. The sounds of a bustling city - Chicago, said the memories - rang in his ears, and he stared up in wonder at the buildings towering over him. Rural scenes confronted him, then, fields and flatlands, wind whipping through his hair as he stared out of the open window of a car. Dirty shoes, hands dipping into shallow pools of water, pulling out small rocks, shaped by erosion. Ryan let the memories carry him through to views of Los Angeles, of an apartment, of a cat that purred as he trailed his hand down its back. The rest of the memories, and there were a lot of them, weaved in and out of his mind, becoming intertwined with his own.

When Ryan opened his eyes, he found himself staring up into Shane's. His head was on a pillow in Shane's lap, arms laid at his sides. Shane smiled down at him and whispered, "Sleep well?" His fingers trailed through his hair.

Ryan, in a drunken haze of memories, smiled back. "What was all that for?" he asked, voice croaky from sleep, referring to the memories.

"I wanted to calm you down. Did it work?" Shane's fingers in his hair felt… nice. He would be hesitant to admit it, but he actually felt safer around Shane, now.

"Mm-hmm," Ryan said, and rubbed at his eyes. Surprisingly, he wasn't tired. He had expected fear and anxiety to keep him awake, but thanks to Shane's intervention, he slept soundly. He sat up and noticed the files previously on the bed had been stacked neatly.

His brief sense of calm faded away, and he chewed at his lip, ready to jump back into the case. What trails could he follow, now?

"You need to lay low," Shane warned, like he could read his mind. "At least until you tie off all the loose ends."

"Where do I even start?" He whispered.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder, and he turned back to Shane, who held out his hands to him, palms up.

Ryan turned and took a deep breath before entering Shane's memories once again.

.


	7. breathe, cold; another bad dream; got mud on my face but i can't get clean

Gathering clues by replaying memories over and over was slow going, but Ryan managed to glean enough to get him started on the path to processing all the loose ends left in Keddie and Quincy. 

First, there was Shane's car: his license plates had been removed in the case file, but Ryan was able to get the license plate number from the memories. Maybe he could see if the Plumas County PD had it in storage, still. That was also a possible location for Shane's body.

Second was the shovel at the scene: it would have been collected as evidence, and if he could get the rest of the evidence from Shane's case, it would only help his connection to Shane's murder to the rest in and around Keddie. He'd have a component, which was better than nothing. 

Third was the hole itself that Shane had dug to unearth the hammer - maybe it had been buried again following Shane's murder and subsequent investigation. It was another possible location for Shane's body. 

Ryan wrote the important additions to the case files on sticky notes which he stuck to the relevant pages. Being pulled in and out of memories was mentally and physically exhausting, especially narrowly missing Shane's murder replay. He grasped at Shane with his mind, and then seconds later he gasped out of the memory and Shane was there to hold him up, to wait for him to catch his breath. It was dizzying, jumping through realities, and he had a hard time during the first few, but then he and Shane developed a rhythm that helped him be aware of himself within Shane's memories. 

He rubbed at his eyes following the last foray, realizing he was very hungry. It was late morning, still before noon - it wouldn't be unusual for him to have been holed up in his hotel room for a day and a half. He could use the "hardworking detective" angle, but this was probably going to be the last time he could use that excuse. Things were going to be moving fast very soon.

"I should eat, go stop by the station, try and not make it look like I'm connecting the dots." Ryan stood, moving to the bathroom to get a drink when he realized he looked like shit. His shirt and pants were wrinkled, tie askew, and the bags under his eyes were suitcases. He was unsure if the unshaven look was working for him. He slipped off his tie as he left the bathroom. 

"I don't think we should go searching for my car 'til the sun sets. We can sneak around better." Shane sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Ryan grabbed clothing to change into. 

"Where will you go?" Ryan asked as he walked to the bathroom to take a shower, kicking off his shoes he just now realized he hadn't taken off since he set foot in the room over twelve hours earlier. When he didn't hear an answer, he poked his head back out into the room. 

Shane was gone, and Ryan pursed his lips. The room felt much more empty when he was gone. 

.

Ryan stalled as much as he could at the station, asking mostly about the two recent missing persons and also interviewing other detectives about his original case and the victims within it. Where did they frequent, where could he find more information on them, what were they like… It was repetitive and boring but seemed to get Doug Thomas, the police chief, from breathing down his neck. He wasn't sure what Shane's plan would be, coming here at night, but he assumed it would involve breaking in. 

Eating lunch at the Plumas Club was eerie in its own right, since it was consistently almost empty, but being alone added a whole other layer of tension to Ryan's anxious body. He was nice and polite and watched the television to both distract himself and watch for any new developments from the Plumas PD on the two recently missing people. He barely tasted the food he ate, and to make matters worse, once it was all down his nervous stomach tossed and turned to make it uncomfortable to even try and sit casually at the bar. His cheap beer did nothing to ease his nerves, especially since he watched the bartender very closely while she poured his drink. 

Ryan was beginning to feel like a nervous wreck with all the knowledge he hid within him - he felt the urge to run and hide, or, better yet, leave altogether. The sympathetic part of him, most of him, leaned to the side of staying, to help Shane, to stop this aggressive cycle. He obeyed. 

When he got back to his room once again, he read through the additions to the files and wrote them out clearer. All these sticky notes made him look just a bit crazy, and if he wanted his superior to be on his side and back him up with department resources - especially fellow officers from his jurisdiction - he had to be organized and thorough.

It was around dinnertime when Shane appeared and nearly scared the living hell out of him. He popped into existence as a shadow out of the corner of Ryan's eyes, which, when he turned to look, made him jump and his heart skip into motion. 

"Jesus, don't _do_ that," Ryan said, breathless. "You're gonna kill me, and then what'll you do?" 

Shane snickered and sauntered over, sitting on the bed and, one hand softly touching Ryan's back, leaned over his rewriting of notes. He nodded in approval. "How are you gonna get them down here?" 

He finished the sentence he was on and sighed, fidgeting with the pen in between his fingers. "I gotta have enough proof. That's why I need you - I need to be able to say I can solve it, that I can stop all this." Ryan realized that Shane's hand hadn't left his back, and he could feel the cold emanating off Shane in their close proximity. A chill ran up his spine despite his familiarity with the ghostly side effects. 

A knock came at the door and Shane was gone again, disappearing within the time it took for Ryan to look up from his papers. Carefully, he locked the files away in his briefcase. He took stock of his gun, still in its concealed holster under his suit jacket. He took a deep breath and put on his best rube face, opening the door with careful hands - if only he had his kevlar vest with. 

An officer stood on the other side. It took Ryan a few seconds, but he recognized him from the station - he was the rookie who brought him the statement files he needed the day he found Shane's file. Even though it was a little over a day ago, Ryan still felt like it had been a lifetime. 

"Hello, um..?"

"Williams. Derrick Williams." He shoved a hand at Ryan, and Ryan shook it, still suspicious.

"What can I do for you, Williams?" Ryan was still hesitant to let him in, at least before he could analyse his behavior. From the looks of it, Williams was nervous. He had shifty eyes, hands shoved away in his pockets. 

"May I come in? I'd like to discuss your case with you. I may have some information that will help." Ryan remembered him from the station, that day, but he was on the sidelines and wasn't one of the people to come forward to talk about the case. He just now made the connection that the reason behind his hesitation to provide information was an order from his superiors, which would include Doug Thomas, a possible accessory to the cover-ups. 

"Of course," Ryan said, taking a chance on trusting Derrick. He held the door open and closed it behind them when he entered. 

"How long are you staying?" The rookie asked, almost unsure of himself. 

"Until this is solved," Ryan said, like it seemed obvious. If nothing else, he was determined. "Why?" 

Derrick turned to him, and in a low voice and with wide eyes he said, "Mr. Bergara, I don't know if I should be telling you this, but I don't think people around here take very kindly to you. If you plan on solving this case, you better do it quick." 

"What do you mean?" Ryan asked, hands clenched at his sides. 

Derrick sighed. Ryan's eyes flickered to where Shane suddenly appeared behind him, around five feet back by the opposite wall. Shane implored with his gaze to make Derrick leave, but Ryan gave an ever so slight, negative shake of his head. He focused back on Derrick.

"You're in danger, I think," Derrick whispered. "It's best to leave this alone."

Ryan's nails dug into his palms as he said, "I can assure you I have this under control. I don't need anyone worrying about me, okay?" He reached for the knob of the door again, but was stopped by Derrick grabbing his wrist. It felt eerily familiar to when he was trying to keep Shane in his room - though he was able to disappear any time he wanted, and Ryan wasn't. 

"Please listen to me. Do not go to Keddie." 

Ryan met Derrick's eyes for a brief second before he said, "If you don't mind, I still need to work." Derrick took the hint and reluctantly let go of his wrist. Shane, behind him, visibly relaxed. 

Derrick left without another word. 

Ryan locked the door behind him with all the available locks and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to even out his breathing. Shane's weight dipped the mattress beside him, and he let himself be pulled into a hug. The heels of his hands covered his eyes and his fingers pulled at his hair. 

.

When they ventured out into Quincy after dark, Ryan still was shaken and unsure. With Shane at his side, though, he was able to focus on the three clues he had gathered from his memories. First was the car. 

Shane and Ryan walked to the station, Shane leading him through dark alleyways and past houses without lights on, avoiding any sign of human life in Quincy. Clearly Shane knew the rhythm of this town. It was past 3am, past any time a normal person would be out and about. Ryan cautiously took each step, dampening the sounds he made with precise movements or concentrated foot placements on the grass. Water droplets clung to each blade and gave his shoes a wet shine from disturbing them. 

When they got to the station, Shane kept watch as Ryan picked the gate lock of the lot where the Plumas PD kept both extra patrol cars and vehicular evidence. There was a small back entrance to the station they could break into as well, in order to search the inner evidence room for the evidence from Shane's case. Ryan only had his gun, badge, wallet, and a flashlight on his person. Said flashlight he kept pointed near the ground to keep from anyone else seeing - he didn't know who could be out here. 

He looped the license plate number in his mind, shining a flashlight on each car that remotely matched the description and image in his mind of Shane's car: a maroon 1981 Toyota Cressida. The cars that weren't patrol cars had clearly been left undisturbed since they were brought into the fenced-in lot. The stark shadows cast by the flashlight beam caused Ryan's eyes to flicker to the edges of his vision, just in case he could catch any shadows that looked like people or, as he knew now, ghosts. 

Tucked in a back corner behind four other cars Ryan found a car half covered by a large tarp. The bright blue color had been glazed over with layers of dirt and grime. Curious, he waved Shane over, who jogged to him. 

"What did you find?" 

Ryan pointed to the car and they exchanged a determined look. He leaned down, took a hold of a corner of the dirty tarp, and pulled. 

It was a maroon 1981 Toyota Cressida. Ryan looked down where the license plate would be, but didn't see one. He wasn't surprised to see they weren't there - they were probably hidden or buried like the hammer Shane uncovered. 

Shane stepped toward the car with furrowed brow and pulled at the driver's side door handle. It didn't open. Shane cursed. 

Ryan immediately searched in his vicinity for something thin and wire-like. There was plenty of trash among the rest of the vehicles, so he searched in nearby boxes and piles for anything remotely useful in unlocking the car. He found a wire hanger and, after a bit of a struggle, was able to detach it from itself and bend it into a shaky line, but a line nonetheless. Ryan pushed past Shane and pulled the weather stripping from the edge where the window and door met, and shoved the hooked part of the hanger down into the gap. He wiggled it around in the door, turning it so the hook faced the inside of the car. With a few testing tugs and readjustments, the door mechanism was caught by the hanger and the door unlocked. Ryan pulled the door handle and smiled at Shane when the door opened. He pulled the hanger out of the door, replaced the weather stripping, and bent the hanger back to a poor imitation of its original shape before stuffing it in a nondescript box of trash nearby.

Shane sat in the drivers' seat and placed his hands on the wheel, gently, like the car would fall apart at any moment. Ryan circled to the other side of the car and tapped on the glass; Shane unlocked the door and Ryan slid into the passenger side. Shane closed the door on his side and sat still, eyes distant. Ryan could just barely see his own breath in the chilly night air, and it billowed out in front of him. He stared at Shane's profile, dim in the moonlight. He looked vulnerable. The shadows under his eyes seemed to spread more and his eyes were sunken and hollow. His fingers wrapped around the wheel, thin wrists poking up from the rolled up sleeves of his flannel. 

Ryan, despite himself, tried to picture Shane's skeleton. He wondered if there would be any damage from being stabbed on any of his lower ribs, or if there would be any of his clothing left to identify him offhand. Could he identify him from his glasses? Was he in some mass grave the residents of Quincy and Keddie kept secret? 

Shane's eyes were a bit glazed over, like he was thinking, meditating on something. Ryan gently reached out and touched him on the shoulder, and Shane looked over at him, moment passed and the look gone with it. 

"Let's see if we can find any evidence, shall we?" Shane said, and it sounded much louder in the closed space of the car. He opened up the center console and looked in nooks and crannies he probably knew more about than Ryan. 

Ryan opened up the glove box. The manual, insurance information, and registration were gone - all important things for a car owner to have and usually safely kept in the glove box. He frowned at the lack of information. He asked Shane to open up the trunk and he moved around the back of the vehicle. When the trunk opened, Ryan pulled up his flashlight, hesitated, and turned it on. 

A breath he didn't know he was holding left his lungs. Shane's body wasn't in the trunk. He didn't have to see it - at least, not yet. 

What he did find, though, was the shovel - it was hidden near the back of the trunk, underneath a couple blankets. Shane stood behind him and let out a hollow laugh. 

"We have one thing, now. I'd consider that a victory." 

Ryan smiled at Shane and grabbed the shovel. When he pulled it from the trunk, he noticed a shadow behind Shane. His breath caught in his throat and he froze, wide eyes fixed on the figure. Shane noticed and whirled, stance protective in front of Ryan. He grabbed the flashlight out of Ryan's hand and turned it on, bringing the beam onto the figure. 

The figure stood around ten feet away. It was a bit indistinct, but Ryan could make out it was a female figure, with brown shoulder-length hair blown back to give the illusion of volume. She stared, if he could say that - her eyes were hollow and dark, like they weren't really there. He couldn't really make out many facial features, but he knew who she was.

This was the ghost of Tina Sharp. 

Ryan's mouth felt dry all of a sudden, fear shooting through him. He was thankful this figure didn't turn out to be a living resident of Quincy or Keddie, and especially not an officer, but since it was one of the Cabin 28 ghosts, he was worried what she was doing all the way out here. Granted, her bones had been transported back and forth from various locations, so that provided part of an explanation. Tina just stood and stared at them. Shane was tense, like he was ready for a fight. He kept the flashlight beam trained on her. 

"What do you want?" He asked in a normal voice; not too loud, not too quiet. Enough so she could hear them but hopefully no one else. 

She didn't move. She had a blank expression, and no matter how hard Ryan tried to focus on her face, he couldn't get a clear view. It was like the shadows of her face were constantly shifting. The hair on his arms rose with goosebumps - they weren't from the cold. 

Ryan wondered if she was there to guide them, like Shane was to him. Despite his whole body screaming in protest, he set a hand on Shane's outstretched arm which was protective, ready to push or pull him out of harm's way. He spoke to her.

"Are we on the right path?" He asked, voice a little shaky. 

Tina stood there, motionless, for a few seconds, hands loose at her sides, glaringly solid in the light from the flashlight. Then she nodded slowly, wordless. Ryan's heart raced. 

The flashlight flickered. He blinked, and she was gone.


	8. when did i get so pitiful; just a goddamn corpse in a centerfold; you got my back against the wall; and now i can't ever get comfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the precipice of change.

Ryan looked up with wide eyes at Shane, who didn't meet his eyes, instead surveying the lot. He slowly lowered the flashlight and turned it off, plunging them in darkness. 

"What are you - ?" Ryan started, but stopped. His lips moved, but didn't make sound. Shane's hand moved to slip in his, gripping tight. As he looked around, Ryan saw the eerie, animal-like glow on his eyes and realised that Shane could see in the dark. Another perk of being dead, he thought absently.

Shane finally moved, letting go of Ryan's hand. Ryan reached for it again and was given the flashlight. He watched Shane pick up one end of the blue tarp, tossing it back over the car and moving to the other side to make sure it completely covered their interference. He turned and grabbed the shovel and Ryan's hand, making a beeline for the gate leading out of the lot.

Ryan trembled. His whole body was coiled up to flee or strike, and his heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't believe he saw another ghost - not to mention it was one of the original Keddie victims. He felt queasy from just looking at Tina for that amount of time - her face was wrong, not fully formed. She was too pale and almost glowed. She didn't sway or make any movement other than nodding. He now knew what Shane meant when he said the Keddie ghosts weren't very welcoming. Coming into existence again as a ghost only to see _that_ had to be a wake-up call. 

They were fleeing the scene, if he didn't count the careful ways they weaved in and out of buildings and through shadowy yards. They took a different way back than simply retracing their steps, in case someone was following them. Shane stopped when they were in close proximity to the Gold Pan Lodge. He pulled them off to the side, into shadows, scanning the lot for any sign of life. Ryan looked as well. There were four other cars in the parking lot, mostly on the fringes and closer to the main lobby. He didn't see anyone, but he almost didn't trust his eyes. Shane's hand still gripped his, their fingers intertwined, and Ryan loosened his vice grip a little but didn't pull away. Shane was holding his hand as much as Ryan was. 

Shane's other hand held the shovel, which he leaned on for support as he confirmed the safety of the lot. Then he met Ryan's eyes and nodded his head at room 118. They quickly moved across the open expanse between the shadows they were hidden in and the door to the room, and Ryan's blood ran cold when they got to the door. 

It was slightly ajar. 

Ryan instinctively pulled his gun and moved to the side of the door opposite the opening. He clicked on the flashlight and held it with his other hand, crossing his gun over the flashlight, its beam lighting where the gun pointed. Shane moved out of the way to the other side of the door. Ryan took a deep breath before he flung the door open and scanned the inside of the room, sweeping with his gun as well. Nobody was inside. 

When he turned on the light, the room was in total disarray. Despite the lock on his briefcase, someone had forced it open and scattered all the files. Things were missing, he knew that much - he cursed and moved to check the bathroom for the culprit, which he didn't find. Shane followed in and frowned at the state of the hotel room. 

Ryan moved back to the main room and closed the front door. He found no damage to the locks or door itself, meaning someone knew he was out - someone in the hotel allowed the intruder access, or the intruder was someone in the hotel. He huffed and felt dread curl in the pit of his stomach. He definitely wasn't safe here now. He put his gun back in its holster and stood in the middle of the room, looking at the evidence of his investigation, damaged and incomplete. Panic rose up his throat like bile. His hands were shaking and he wondered if they ever stopped since the sighting at the lot. Tears began overflowing in his eyes before he could stop them, and his vision became blurry. He squatted, curled into himself, and watched them fall. He felt hands on his wrists and arms around him that pulled him into a hug. He stumbled to his knees, clutching the fabric of Shane's flannel. 

"You're so close, now - you can lead them to me, I must be in Keddie, I must be there," Shane comforted. Ryan felt worry curl into his negative feelings. If Shane was buried in Keddie, he would have to go there as soon as possible. Word travels fast in small towns, especially in this one, and it was his duty to uncover what was hidden before he could be silenced. 

What else could he do but move forward?

He heaved air into his lungs and attempted to stand, shakily righting himself with the help of Shane, whose hands were at the ready to catch him. Frustrated, he wiped at his eyes, which brimmed immediately thereafter with fresh tears. Jaw set, he pushed past the tremors of fear deep in his bones and pulled his car keys from his pocket. The keys nearly slipped from his shaky fingers. He took a shuddering breath and approached the door to room 118. The stark white door was all that separated him from the false security of his hotel room and danger of the outside world. 

He opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who's reading! i really appreciate y'all 💖


	9. when the room is quiet; the daylight almost gone; it seems there's something i should know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time is running out.

Ryan's wild eyes scanned the parking lot as he hurried to his car. He scanned the exterior and warily squinted to make out any suspicious movement or figures within. When he unlocked the door and slid into the passenger seat, he looked up to find Shane next to him, shovel in hand. He was startled for a moment, but relaxed. He frantically searched for the ignition by poking his key at it until it slid in. The engine turned over and it sounded too loud in the parking lot. Ryan was afraid it would bring more attention to him than there already was - he put the car in drive and tried to keep his cool. He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the adjacent highway, void of anything but the hazy reflections of street lights on the wet asphalt. 

A soft spray collected into larger drops on the windshield as Ryan got up to speed. They bled into each other and flowed with the force of the wind. The squeak of the wipers interjected the silence between him and Shane. 

Ryan's heart hammered in his chest and he could barely feel it when Shane set a hand on his arm. He didn't react until Shane said, "You can do this," with a soft certainty. Ryan looked away from the road for a second to meet his eyes, and then he took a breath to hopefully calm his nerves. He loosened his tense fingers around the steering wheel. He had the shovel, he had the means to uncover this whole mess. He just needed to get there.

Headlights suddenly appeared in his rearview. He cast nervous glances at the blinding light in the mirror, watching with heart rate increasing as they got closer. Shane took notice and turned his body so he could look out the rear window. 

"Shit," Ryan huffed under his breath. He pressed his foot on the gas pedal, watching as the red marker of the speedometer climbed well above the speed limit. Soon the car was right behind them. 

Through the bright haze of its headlights Ryan recognized the vehicle as one of the cars in the Gold Pan's parking lot. He had no idea whose it was, but he had an inkling he would soon find out if he didn't lose them. Keddie was only a ten minute drive from Quincy, so if he wanted any time to himself to investigate once he was there, he would have to deter them somehow. 

Shane frowned at the proximity of the car and turned to Ryan. With an unnervingly even tone to his voice, he said, "I want you to hit your brakes." 

"Wh - are you crazy?" Ryan snapped. The gas pedal was nearing the floor. The car tilted dangerously as he followed the curving road at high speed.

"Slam your brakes! Now!" Shane pulled one of Ryan's hands free from the steering wheel by the wrist. Ryan tried to wrench his hand away but Shane's tight grip kept him from doing so. 

In the corner of his eye, Ryan saw Shane's familiar silhouette change, ever so subtly. It prickled and separated at the edges, like static. His eyes became glued to the hand wrapped around his wrist, which faded from its pristine condition to something more akin to a shadow that spread in wisps up from its fingertips. Ryan felt a lump in his throat form from the spike in fear he felt. 

_Now_ , said a voice that made his heart skip a beat. It surrounded him in sound, and had more of a presence than a wavelength. 

Without processing the consequences of his actions, Ryan slammed hard on the brakes. He squeezed his eyes shut automatically. The only grounding thing he felt after that until the feel of wet asphalt and the smell of burnt rubber was Shane wrapping his arms around him in a firm embrace. 

Ryan opened his eyes. He was outside of the car, kneeling on the road. His car was upright, albeit facing to the right and now with a mostly crushed rear. The other car, however, had not only collided with the back of his car, but then skidded left across the road where it rolled down into the ditch. It crumpled like an aluminum can, half wrapped around a tree, the impact just behind the driver's side door. Tire tracks, dark and heavy on the road, chronicled the events. 

Ryan blinked again. He gasped, and then breathed, "Wha - how - " his mouth agape.

"You're still alive," Shane explained, his arms falling back to his sides from protectively wrapped around Ryan's torso. "I got us out of there." 

Ryan didn't notice that Shane stood until Shane pulled him up by one of his arms. He scrambled to stand, eyes still glued on the wreck. "But - what - " 

"There's no time," Shane dismissed. When Ryan looked to him again, he was startled by how he looked. He was fuzzy at the edges, clothing now indistinct. Under the shadows that carved his face Ryan could see an alternate form of Shane. One with rotted features, carved away by years of decay. It was hard to discern, only lit by the moon, but Ryan could see the glint of jawbone contrasted by the deep black of the edge of Shane's gaping eye socket. These features were simultaneously revealed and hidden under the bill of his hat. The darkness bled into him from around him - or was it the other way around? Ryan's breath caught in his throat at the sight. He stood on uncertain feet with wide eyes.

Shane noticed his shock and turned his head away from further scrutiny. "It's getting closer, now - " He said, voice low, answering a question not asked. "The time of my death." 

Ryan closed his mouth and swallowed, feeling guilty for staring. Without waiting, Shane grabbed his hand and pulled, indicating Ryan should follow. When he loosened his grip to fully let go of his hand, Ryan held fast instead. He noticed Shane's hand felt different this time; there was less presence to his hand than previous times he had held it. Ryan pushed down his discomfort in lieu of the small amount of comfort he yielded from the contact. 

They retrieved the shovel and flashlight from the car. After a cautious look around, Shane led Ryan off the highway, shovel in hand. Ryan took the flashlight and gripped it tight in his free hand. Ryan's car was still running, its headlights shining into the trees. The light was quickly obscured from penetrating into the wood by overlapping swaths of trees and their branches. The other car, whose driver clearly wouldn't be a problem anymore, sat eerily silent. The highway was wet and empty, a soft fog filtering over it. 

The gravel road Shane pulled him towards was familiar. The overlapping memories between what he was currently seeing and the memories of Shane's death felt like déja vu. These feelings bled into his vision, and he clenched his eyes shut for a moment to shake the weight they possessed. The crunch of gravel under his feet, the rain - it was all so similar. He only hoped the knowledge he possessed and his survival instincts would be enough to get him through this. 

In the encroaching darkness, Ryan felt his anxiety climb, yet he only clutched the handle of his flashlight instead of turning it on. Shane led him into the trees. Ryan took careful strides to keep from disrupting the ambient sounds of the wood, and was no longer surprised that Shane didn't disrupt his surroundings. He silently hoped his flashlight would have enough battery for when he needed to dig. 

The moonlight filtered through the trees, but it didn't give enough light to identify anything concrete other than plant matter and the silhouettes of cabins coming into view in the distance. His nerves made goosebumps break out on his arms, along with the chill of the air. Shane knew this place intimately; he could trust him to lead him to the river.

Without his sight, Ryan's focus was on his other available senses. His hand in Shane's felt tingly, starting in his fingertips and slowly moving down each digit and up his palm. The coldness emanating from Shane's skin was replaced by a unique numbness that was simple at first, but became painful after a few seconds. Ryan jerked his hand from Shane's with a subdued cry of pain when the harmless static turned to sharp needles. 

Shane turned to Ryan as he pulled up his flashlight and shone it on his hand. They were far enough from buildings again for the light to go unnoticed, but Ryan was still cautious with the direction of the beam. His hand trembled, the painful needles dulling into static again. His breath caught at the sight of his hand: it looked like it had aged years, bony joints jutting up under sagging skin, his skin losing its pigmentation and receding into a sickly grey color. Then, as he watched, the aging reversed - wrinkles shrunk into themselves and the skin of his hands once again became young and supple.

When he met Shane's eyes, they were clouded with worry. The soft glow under his face from the flashlight seemed to penetrate his skin like it was semi-transparent. Once again Ryan could see the bones formerly hidden underneath thick skin, which sent another shiver up his spine. Instead of being a flesh-colored transparency like cupping his hand over the flashlight head, it glowed in dull tints of grey lacking any single hue. 

"How far?" Ryan asked, trying to keep the tremor in his voice down. He forced himself to meet Shane's eyes, to lessen the shame Shane felt for his altered appearance. 

"We're close," Shane replied quietly, brows furrowed. 

Ryan switched his flashlight off and to his other hand, switching which hand now reached for the sleeve of Shane's flannel. Despite his anxiety begging him to not turn off the flashlight, he did so anyway, determined to avoid any further delays. He tugged at the sleeve to indicate that he was ready to go again. 

His eyes took a few moments to adjust to the darkness as they continued on. Shortly after their pause, they emerged onto dewy, overgrown grass, where they could see the cabins from a reasonable distance. Ryan felt his feet become chilled from the moisture collecting on his shoes, and his pants became damp around the ankles. If it weren't for the situation he was in, he'd be more upset. 

Shane hugged shadows, trees, and other bulky objects on their way from the trees to the edge of the river. He pulled Ryan closer and lower to the ground, eyes scanning the cabins. Ryan saw the reflection of Shane's tapetum lucidum in the moonlight, and couldn't stop a shiver from travelling up his spine at the sight. Usually reserved for animals, Ryan wondered what sort of predator ghosts could be given the chance. Their interactions with the living were obviously limited, and different in each case, but Ryan felt uneasy at the thought. If traumatic death victims could hold violent tendencies in the afterlife, who better to take them out on than the living? Ryan acknowledged the danger and protection Shane simultaneously held around him and was grateful for the latter. 

The ground around the inlet was wet and soft. Ryan's shoes sunk slightly into the surface of the dirt. They were partially obscured from the cabins by their decline down to the river, yet Ryan still stooped lower to keep himself hidden. When he looked over, Shane was barely there, just a silent silhouette in the damp air. Shane's eyes studied the ground, and he slouched like he normally did. The handle of the shovel was clutched in one indistinct hand. 

Ryan closed the space between them. For a brief moment he collected himself and tried to keep his head from spinning from all the anxious thoughts pinging around in his brain. Then he reached out and grabbed under the handle of the shovel and looked up into Shane's face - or, what was left of it.

Words unspoken hung in the air. Shane let go of the shovel and his form became one with the shadows at the edge of Ryan's vision. He was still there, between forms, and Ryan felt his presence. 

Ryan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He fast forwarded through Shane's memories in his mind like a VHS tape. He opened his eyes, scanned and then settled on a place on the ground. With a grunt, he pushed the shovel blade into the dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for such a late update, i had so much happen these last two months. enjoy!! thanks so much for those who've left kudos & comments!


	10. i'm on my back again; dreaming of a time and place where you and i could be the best of friends; even after all this ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for this chapter lol

The dirt was wet and heavy. As much as Ryan tried, each time he shoveled into the ground and scooped some out, the muddy earth would crumble in on itself. He pushed past the frustration of how little he was advancing and dug deeper, wider, deeper, wider. Slowly but surely. Sweat collected on the back of his neck, dripped down his temples. His hot breath billowed in front of his face. 

He continued to dig despite his muscles beginning to ache. He continued to dig despite water collecting in the hole he just opened up. He continued to dig despite mud caking on his shoes and the bottom of his slacks soaking up dirty water. 

It was slow going, but the pile of mud near him grew in size. With the blade of the shovel, he clumsily skimmed water from the base of the hole. The waterlogged earth was heavier than he anticipated, and he cursed his own physical ineptitude. He questioned whether he'd be able to dig deep enough a hole to find what he needed, but pushed the thought aside with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew he had to be quick. His life and other already lost lives depended on the evidence - on _him_. He figured it would only be a matter of time before his car was discovered and someone - or something - inevitably trailed him here. The darkness and the emptiness where Shane's physical form had been, a constant anchor by his side, weighed on his shoulders and gave him goosebumps.

After a while, when he dug around two feet into the ground, he straddled the hole and kneeled down into it to get better leverage. The soft earth found a home under his fingernails as he pulled at the mud and lifted it up and out of the hole. His knees sunk into wetness and he winced at the uncomfortable feeling. Ryan found that digging with his hands was surprisingly easier than digging with the shovel, especially in this weather. He recklessly pulled up his sleeves with dirty hands for ease of movement. 

It was more time still, layers of mud drying upon themselves on Ryan's hands and clothing, until his fingers snagged on something in the mud. Ryan felt a spike of adrenaline that made his heart race and he plunged into the spot where he felt it. What he pulled free from the mud with a wet sucking sound was a hammer. He wiped away the mud and found the rusty head of the same hammer Shane found. Ryan sighed deeply in relief and cradled it in his shaking, cold hands. He stared down at it for a moment, breath billowing in his vision. Then something else caught his eye: a sliver of mud-soaked fabric poking up from the earth. Ryan's mouth immediately went dry. 

He reached for it - 

A voice made him freeze. 

"What do you think you're doing?" 

Ryan whirled and his eyes caught the silhouette of a person. The feminine voice and outline of hair brought an immediate suspect in his mind from the files. He clutched the hammer tight in one hand, cursing himself despite knowing something like this would happen, and stood. 

The form descended the small slope that obscured Ryan from the rest of the campground. In her hand, she flicked on a flashlight and the glow faintly illuminated her face from underneath. Marilynn Smartt stood about five feet in front of Ryan, and even as he stood tall, his heart hammered in his chest. 

He examined her: she held a simple kitchen knife in her other hand with the kind of confidence someone would only have if they'd become used to wielding it. Ryan examined his options: It was too late for him to reach for his gun. In the time it would take for him to reach in his jacket and remove it from its holster, she could be charging at him with the knife. He knew he couldn't run, because she knew the terrain better than he did, not to mention the darkness that made it easy for him to stumble, to get caught, to be held down - 

"Do you know who I am?" Ryan asked, biding his time and quelling the wave of fear.

Marilynn smiled at him. "Of course, Officer Bergara of the LAPD. You should know word travels fast in this town," she tutted. 

Ryan called out with his mind for Shane, for any indication that he was near. He felt a small brush of cold on the back of his neck, then the back of his hand; I'm here, it said. He desperately searched for something else to say to the killer in front of him. Marilynn was playing with him; this he knew. He had to distract her more, flatter her, lengthen the time it took for her to close the space between them. 

"So I've seen." Ryan said, feigning defeat. "I thought I could figure it out in time, but you all were too fast." 

Marilynn narrowed her eyes at him. "How'd you know all about this, anyway? I kept the information heavily under wraps, you know," she sneered, shifting her hand with the knife to rest on one hip. 

"It took some digging, that's all." Ryan chuckled hollowly, shrugging and gesticulating with his mud-caked hands. 

Marilyn sighed, unimpressed. "Why pursue a cold case? Why not just leave it alone? You could've turned a blind eye like everyone else in this goddamn town. I had everyone under my thumb, at least until the spotlight got on the new murders…" She shook her head. "You had help, didn't you? You can't have done this all by yourself." 

Ryan clenched his fists until his nails dug into his skin and he could feel the hammering of blood through his veins. Fear threatened to overwhelm him - fight or flight? - and he took a shaky breath. 

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted. Another thought was pushed into his mind; like earlier in the car, he was uncontrollably pressured into an action. 

Without being able to stop himself, he said, "Shane Madej." 

Marilynn froze. "What?"

Ryan blinked. That was his name? 

"Shane Madej," he repeated, this time feeling a blossom of recognition in the back of his mind. 

Marilynn dropped her flashlight and closed the space between them in the span of two seconds. Knife still in her hand, she grabbed him by the lapel and jerked him forward, up and out of the hole he dug. Ryan, too scared to defend himself, even with the hammer in his hand, simply complied with the rough treatment. Once she pulled him nose to nose with her, he stared into her face with wide eyes. 

"I killed that motherfucker. I buried him myself - " She spat, frantic. "The police file didn't even say his name - how do you know that name?" 

She was terrified at the knowledge he possessed, he realized; the rest of her behavior was all for show. Ryan pushed into the knowledge like pressing on a fresh wound. 

"The dead don't particularly like to stay buried, Marilynn." 

A fire lit behind Marilynn's eyes and she bared her teeth in a snarl. She curled her fists tighter on his lapel and pulled him closer. "Not if I have anything to say about it, Officer Bergara." 

Ryan took the chance of her emotionally stricken state and brought an arm up between them, separating them and dislodging her fingers from his lapel. He sweeped a foot with harsh force at the side of her knee and she stumbled to the ground. Despite wanting to run, he stayed; the impact disrupted her grip on the kitchen knife for a brief moment. He took that opportunity to lean over her and hold her down, tucking his forearm under her chin, using the hammer as leverage to turn her face away. With his free left hand, he clawed at her hand for the weapon. 

Marilynn was stunned for all of two seconds, after which she clutched the knife for dear life. She turned her face back to Ryan and tried to bite his arm; he applied pressure to her neck with his forearm which kept her snapping teeth away from his flesh. He was awkwardly leaned over her, and she started to kick her legs furiously to disrupt his stance. Ryan lifted his left leg over her kicking ones and stepped with purpose on Marilynn's arm. She continued to thrash and snarl as much as she could, but with digging pressure and grinding the heel of his shoe into her arm, she let go of the weapon. 

When he reached for it, though, she got just enough of one leg under him to shove him off of her. He missed his chance to grab her weapon. Instead, he rolled with the momentum of her force, letting go of the hammer, and then turned to face her, leaned on one knee in the muddy grass. He huffed in frustration. 

"How would you like to join Shane, Ryan?" Marilynn asked, casually lifting herself up from the ground, grabbing her knife as she went. A sinister smile spread across her face and Ryan clenched his jaw, lip curling in disgust at her nonchalance. 

"I came here to solve this case. I'm not leaving until I do." He stood as she did, and readied his fists for hand to hand combat. He trained for situations like this. 

When Marilynn charged at him, he met her actions blow for blow and nullified them the best he could. He felt better the more moves he was able to block; if he tired her out enough, he could maybe get a move in and be able to restrain her. 

His confidence was short-lived when she suddenly caught him with the blade, through his sleeve and sliced the skin of his arm. His breath caught and he hissed, but tried to not let it distract him. She lunged at him and he caught both her fists in his hands. He was distracted for just long enough for her to lean between their arms and head butt him in the chin. The snap of his teeth colliding harshly rattled in his skull and dazed him. With his hands still gripping her fists, she turned his arms outward and shoved forward with her captured hands. The slickness of the mud on his hands was just enough for her hands to slip out of his and he stumbled a step back. 

As he tried to right himself, his heart lurched when his foot slipped down into the shallow, fragile hole he just dug. He fell backwards and knew instantly he was at a disadvantage. The flashlight on the ground was at just the right angle to momentarily blind him, and he squinted to see past the glow. 

What he saw was Marilynn stepping into the hole, one foot on either side of him, and he scrambled to get up. The walls of the hole were slippery, and crushed easily under the weight of his frantic movements. Marilynn wrapped one grimy hand around his throat - he wasn't able to see it coming thanks to the flashlight - and Ryan felt the thin weight of the knife press onto his abdomen. 

He ceased struggling, holding his breath. He stared up into Marilynn's face, into the face of a killer. 

Marilynn smiled, sickly sweet, and Ryan opened his mouth to attempt to reason with her - 

The now-familiar impact in his abdomen came. Then the electric sting, igniting his nerves along his stomach and making his heart race. The searing heat came next, and Ryan knew what happened.

Ryan, like Shane before him, had been stabbed by Marilynn Smartt.

Ryan grabbed the hand with the knife and dug his nails into her skin. If she took it out, he would bleed, and bleed, and bleed - his defense now would simply have to be preventing more damage to himself. 

_Ryan - !_

Ryan clenched his jaw through the pain and warmth radiating from the wound and tried to ignore Shane's voice in his mind. His eyes suddenly swelled with tears and he blinked them from his eyes, concentrating on how they flowed down his face instead of how the blood oozed from his wound into the fabric of his shirt. 

"Fuck you," He spat into Marilynn's face. 

The hand around his throat tightened and he jerked his face away in an attempt to dislodge her fingers. Instead of his desired effect, the blade twisted inside of him and he took the privilege of a small gasp. The burn intensified, and he pulled at her hand around his throat using all his strength. He felt his fingers growing cold. He knew it wasn't the chill in the air causing it. 

His fingernails dug into her wrist and he pushed them deeper and deeper, hoping to get her to let go. In turn, she dug the knife deeper into his already opened wound and leaned over him more, allowing more leverage to choke him with. 

Ryan scrambled to keep himself above consciousness, but felt it fading as the pressure on his neck increased. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, and he pulled at both of Marilynn's hands, hoping to last just a bit longer - 

The sound of gravel crunching under tires didn't deter Marilynn. The bright sweep of headlights onto them was almost a relief to Ryan - almost. If it was another Keddie or Quincy citizen, it would surely seal his fate. 

He knew he could only rely on himself right now. He needed to get out of there, alive. He was Shane's last hope. He heard frantic whispers floating in the back of his mind, and could only assume it was him. It was background noise compared to the pain at the forefront of his mind. Shane couldn't help - he was no longer tangible in his current state, and therefore not able to pull Marilynn off of him. 

He desperately floated above the blackness of unconsciousness using all the strength he could muster. 

He heard a car door slam, and the sounds of steps coming toward them. From his vantage point, he took a small, needed gasp, but only helped Marilynn with cutting off more of his air flow. Blackness tempted the edges of his vision. 

A shadow stretched in the headlights' glow, and he saw the oscillating shine of red, blue, red, blue - a cop, he decided. 

A Quincy cop. 

The last threads of his hope broke, and floating spots of darkness danced in his eyes. He pulled more at her hands and scraped her skin with his nails.

He heard the cock of a gun. 

"Marilynn, I'd suggest you let him go."

Ryan's eyes snapped wide. 

Ryan recognized that voice. 

Marilynn let go of his neck and he took a gasping breath with the little freedom he was given. The darkness receded slowly, pulsing with his heartbeat. She turned, and Ryan squinted in the light. 

It was Derrick Williams, with a gun pointed at Marilynn Smartt from eight feet away. Far enough to make the first move, and far enough to evade any attack. 

"What in the hell do you think you're doing, Williams? You already know what's going on here." 

In a steady voice, much different from his last encounter with Ryan, he replied, "I do, and you'll be coming with me. I have the Butte County Police Department alerted to your presence and the danger you pose, and I have already contacted Officer Bergara's department. You need to let him go and come with me, Marilynn." 

Marilynn scoffed. "What evidence do you have?" 

Derrick nodded to the hole Ryan dug. "I'm sure all I'll need is what's in that hole, and what testimony Officer Bergara can offer." 

Marilynn's smirk faded into a grimace. "Did you really expect me to come with you when you're alone?"

The passenger door of the car opened, and another officer stepped out and aimed his gun at Marilynn. A distant crunch of gravel under tires and oscillating red and blue lights indicated backup. 

"Stand up and walk towards me with your hands up." Derrick commanded. 

Ryan saw as she chewed the inside of her lip, calculating her next move. He was just relieved to be breathing normally again. The pain of his wound subsided slightly, and he still had his hand wrapped around that wrist. Her other hand was at her side. Ryan watched, eyes flicking between Derrick and Marilynn. 

Marilynn turned and pulled the knife violently from Ryan, and he cried out - as his blurry vision caught her lifting up her arms to plunge the knife into his chest, a gunshot rang out through the open space. 

Ryan felt blood spatter onto him and he shuddered as he screwed his eyes shut for a moment. He wasn't sure if it was because of the way she took the knife out of him and he was now bleeding profusely, or if it was because he knew that was Marilynn's blood that just splattered onto him. 

Ryan hesitantly opened his eyes again when Marilynn dropped the knife and she cried out, more in frustration than anything - she clutched at her shoulder, arm now useless. Derrick was already over and dragging her off of him with help from the other officer. He saw more bright lights coming towards him - his hands were at his side, trying to stem the flow of blood even as he shook, he shook, he shook - 

Derrick was at his side - when did he get there ? - and applied pressure to his wound after pulling away his hands, which Ryan didn't feel. He only felt the heat, the pressure, the _pain_ of his wound.

Ryan gasped and gasped, whimpers and unintelligible pleas escaping his tongue-tied mouth in between. Derrick was talking to him, but he couldn't hear anything - or see, for that matter - everything was swimming, blurry, darkening…

He felt a hand on the side of his face and his head was titled toward a figure he knew. 

Shane. Even in the state he was in, he could recognize him. He was tangible again? 

"Ry - " he whimpered. His hand was still on his face, cradling it, shaking. His expression was clearly worried, more worried than he had ever seen. 

Ryan stole a glance at Derrick, who was still vying for his attention as if he couldn't see Shane. Huh - he must not be able to. 

Ryan looked into Shane's eyes once more. He was talking, which, words were hard. They swam through the fog in his mind and he only could receive parts. 

"- sorry -" 

" - couldn't help - " 

" - please, Ryan, I - " 

Ryan blinked slowly at the ghost in front of him and as he grew numb, as his vision darkened, as he ceased to feel his hands, his feet - 

He smiled. 

"Shane," he said, unsure if he actually said it or just croaked, whispered, mouthed it. _We did it,_ he thought. _I found you._

He blinked slowly. It was so hard to keep his eyes open. He was so tired. He blinked again. He did it, didn't he? He succeeded. This was it. 

He closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >_> so uhhh that happened


	11. how lucky i ever was to see; the way that you smiled at me; your little moon face shining bright at me; one day soon there'll be nothing left of you and me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aftermath.

Ryan opened his eyes to the popcorn ceiling in room 118. He sat up immediately before processing his surroundings, and clutched at his abdomen. His fingers twisted the fabric of his shirt and he tensed, waiting, though he wasn't sure what for. 

Before he could think on that any longer, lanky arms encircled him. He was initially surprised, but he knew this presence, and wrapped his arms around the body connected to them, leaning into the touch, nuzzling his face in the crook of his neck. 

He breathed, and smelled Shane for the first time. He smelled like dirt, woods, and the cheap little tree air fresheners. He could feel his flannel, how threadbare it was from use, feel the stubble on his cheek as it rubbed against his neck. One of Shane's hands found the back of his neck and the other clutched a handful of his shirt. He held Ryan firmly, and he felt protected. 

When they pulled away from each other, Ryan looked up into Shane's eyes, Behind a veil of worry held softness. Between them, Shane's hands cradled his, and his thumbs drew little circles on the back of his hands as he looked down at them. They were warm. 

Shane broke the silence. "Do you remember what happened?" He hesitantly met Ryan's eyes. 

Ryan chewed his lip quizzically. He glanced around the familiar room, trying to piece his memories together. He reached in his mind and found fragments of memories - 

Speeding, a crumpled car - a shovel pulled from a trunk - 

A knife, a woman - fingers twisting around his throat - 

A gunshot - blood, oozing - 

He jerked his hands away from Shane and lifted up his shirt, checking for a wound, for a scar, anything - but there was nothing but the smooth skin of his stomach accompanied by small rolls of belly fat. 

Ryan's breath caught in his throat and his mouth fell open, stunned. 

"Am I - ?" He whispered, looking up into Shane's face again. 

"No," he replied. "You aren't." Relief was evident in the tone of his voice. 

"What about Marilynn?" 

"Gone. She's gone," Shane laughed once to try and hide his worry. "You survived."

Ryan visibly relaxed at the revelation, dropping the fabric of his shirt. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes and rubbing at them with the heel of one hand. Shane reached over and gently touched the back of his hand; Ryan opened his palm to allow Shane to hold his hand. He was grateful for the comfort, since he had a multitude of anxious thoughts overflowing his mind. 

One stood out in particular. 

He reluctantly opened his eyes and looked into Shane's. "What about you?" 

Shane averted his eyes. The air conditioner in the room clicked for a few seconds before starting up, the whir of air disrupting the silence. Ryan swallowed as he connected dots in his mind. 

"You have to go, don't you?" he prodded, words soft and unsure. 

Shane froze for a second, deliberating, and then nodded, eyes still cast aside. For a few moments, they sat, only connected by their hands between them. Ryan examined what he could see of Shane's face, taking in the soft curves and sharp angles, committing them to memory. Here, he felt more real, somehow. This limbo - wherever he was - allowed him to exist more wholly with Shane, and he with him. Both of them here at the same time definitely had something to do with Ryan's brush with death. 

Ryan suddenly dreaded the future. Sure, he had a job, a home, friends, family… but he knew all this trauma and injury would not only affect him for the rest of his life, but the bond he formed with Shane would haunt him, too. 

One person, who he only had the opportunity to meet in the afterlife, had changed his life so much. How could he possibly let this go? 

"I'm coming with you," Ryan blurted.

Shane snapped to look at him, eyes wide. "What do you mean, 'I'm coming with you'?" he asked, incredulous. "I'm the one who's dead, remember?" 

Ryan squeezed Shane's hand. "If I'm here, that means I have a choice, don't I?" 

Sighing, Shane replied, "Kind of, but of course you're going back. _You_ have a life there. I've been dead. I've decomposed. I've been waiting to go." 

Ryan surprised himself when he said, "What if I'd rather choose an afterlife with you?" 

Shane held his stare as if gauging the truth of what he just said. 

With bitter finality, he said, "You'd regret it." 

Frustration boiled to the surface of Ryan's tone as he said, "Why would I regret going to the afterlife with someone who understands me better than anyone else?" 

Stunned by the statement, Shane simply looked away. 

Ryan sighed and scooted closer. This vulnerability was new, but he hoped he would be able to express his feelings. He set his free hand on Shane's arm, insistent. "I've never felt more understood or protected than when I'm with you. Fate determined that we wouldn't meet while we were both alive. Maybe fate wants me to… go with you." 

"You think this is fate?" Shane spat, looking at Ryan with eyes that threatened to spill tears. "I _died_. I've been stuck waiting for _seven years_ for something, anything to help me. I thought I was stuck like this forever." 

When he saw the stunned and hurt expression on Ryan's face, he took a deep breath and continued, voice low. "You came along and… you saw me. You paid attention. You _believed_. I don't think that's fate. I think that's luck." He laughed bitterly. "My biggest stroke of luck in my afterlife." 

Ryan swallowed the lump forming in his throat, processing the words. He wondered how many people had been before him in the quest for Shane to uncover the conspiracy. He was glad to be the last. 

"Do you want me to go with you?" Ryan asked, hopeful. 

Shane's smile was bittersweet. "You know I can't answer that, Ry." 

Ryan felt his chest tighten, and he nodded. 

Then, he was distracted by a shadowy, jittering particle floating near Shane. It was joined by another, and another, rising up from the floor. Ryan saw them around the room, and with them, pieces of the room started to disappear in squares. Objects broke down into pieces and floated upwards, disappearing. 

Yet again, they were running out of time. 

Ryan stood, pulling Shane along with him. In silence, they looked around at the glitching pieces of the hotel room limbo floating up in their vision. The faint sound of static could be heard, as if far away; it crept closer with each passing second. 

Ryan tugged at Shane's hand, and he looked down at Ryan with an unreadable expression. 

"I don't want to go," Ryan whispered, desperate for some kind of answer, some kind of command. 

Shane examined Ryan for a moment. Slowly, he moved his hands to the sides of Ryan's face, cupping his jaw gently. Ryan nervously held eye contact, anxiety high and heart rate increasing. The self-destructing limbo was eating at the floor around their feet, a whirlwind of white noise around them. Ryan's hands lifted to gently grip Shane's wrists. 

"I'll see you soon," Shane assured, and leaned in. 

Ryan's eyes fluttered closed and their lips met. Shane's kiss was filled with longing and melancholy. Ryan's hands pulled at Shane's waist, wanting to pull him through the ether, take him back with him, bring him back to life - 

He wanted to reverse his tragedy, rewind his afterlife, give him a new life with _him_ \- 

The buzz of static grew louder and louder - 

.

When he opened his eyes, Ryan squinted at the white light flooding his vision, and only heard the ringing of his ears.

When it cleared, he found he was alone. He was in a hospital bed, the sterility of his surroundings overwhelming his senses.

Ryan shuddered with the feeling of loss, stemming from the heart. He looked down at himself. He felt a dull ache in his abdomen, covered by a blanket. When he laid a hand over the fabric, he could feel the multiple layers of bandages and gauze underneath protecting his wound. His movement tugged a cord with it, and he noticed an IV poked from his arm. He followed the cord to see he was hooked up to a variety of machines that beeped and whirred. The tube lights overhead buzzed softly with electricity.

Ryan felt exhausted. Physically, emotionally, spiritually. 

When he drank the water left at his bedside, he had to slow himself down to small increments of water because after the first substantial gulp, the pain of swallowing caused him to choke. Coughing only aggravated it, and after he had calmed himself down, he was wheezing with each breath. 

When he set the cup on the counter again, he was startled by a nurse who walked into the room. Sympathy twisted his features when their eyes met. He urged Ryan to sit back and take it easy as he checked his vitals. 

Ryan leaned back into the pillows propping him up and closed his eyes with a sigh. He tried to grasp for the feeling of Shane tugging at the back of his mind. 

When he wasn't there, the last vestiges of Ryan's hope dissipated. 

Ryan was brought out of his thoughts by the nurse speaking. "Did you get to talk to your friend?" He asked. 

Ryan narrowed his eyes. "Friend?" he croaked, voice breathy. 

The nurse nodded, and gestured towards the empty visitor's chair behind him. 

Slung over the arm of the chair was a worn red flannel. Ryan's breath caught in his throat, and tears instantly prickled at his vision. 

"Looks like he left his flannel," the nurse murmured. 

With a shuddering breath, Ryan requested, "Can you hand it to me? I'll… keep it for when I see him next." When the flannel entered his shaking hands, Ryan couldn't help but smile. 

The nurse left, and when Ryan was alone, he gently caressed the fabric with his thumbs. He lifted it to his face, closed his eyes, and breathed in. 

He was graced with the smell of dirt, woods, and the smell of little tree air fresheners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to all who left comments and followed along in this story, i really appreciated all of the lovely words 💖
> 
> please be sure to check out my other bfu au, to be remembered! 
> 
> kudos and comments always welcome 💖

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think, and please leave comments and kudos!


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